The Summer of the Phoenix
by JolieBlack
Summary: “We’ve set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It’s taken a while…” Remus Lupin to Harry in OotP - Here's the story of the rebuilding of the Order, bridging the gap between GoF and OotP from Sirius's point of view - all canon. COMPLETE!
1. Intro and Chapter 1

**The Summer of the ****Phoenix******

_"We've set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while…"_

- Remus Lupin to Harry in "The Order of the Phoenix", Chapter 3

Have you ever wished that "The Order of the Phoenix had come with a long, long, prologue? Here it is. 

**Summary: **Set in the days between the events at the end of the "Goblet of Fire" and the day Harry arrives at Headquarters, this story tells - from Sirius Black's point of view – how No. 12 Grimmauld Place was set up as Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, how the Order came to accept Sirius back into their ranks, and what life in the house was like for Remus and Sirius before Harry arrived. 100 % canon (book spoilers included!)****

**Rating: PG** – for being dark and angsty. Very mild romance (strictly M/F).

**Disclaimer:** J. K. Rowling owns all the characters. No copyright infringement is intended. I'm writing this for my own amusement and I don't make any money of it. 

**Author's note:** This story is dedicated to the Order of the Phoenix. They're my heroes. I love them, each and every one of them. It was also written in memory of my beloved grandmother, a great storyteller, who lived in an old, mysterious, magical house with a large, cosy basement kitchen. I owe it to her, and the memories connected with that place, that reading and writing about the Order of the Phoenix felt like I was coming home. 

I aim to be 100 % faithful to the fantastic creation of J. K. Rowling's Wizarding World. But I know I don't always succeed, so constructive criticism concerning mistakes, inconsistencies and omissions on my part are much appreciated. **Thanks, and enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1**

Night had descended on Grimmauld Place. The gloomy orange street lamps added only little light to that of the waxing moon in the cloudy sky above. The square itself was deserted. A slight breeze rustled through the withered trees around it. 

There was a particularly strong gust of wind – and two figures appeared at the north-eastern corner of the square, as if the wind had blown them there. They were the figures of a man and a dog, walking side by side down towards the southern side of the square. The man wore a shabby old trench coat and trainers. His hair was grey, but it seemed to have greyed prematurely, since his face, although rather thin and lined, was that of a man not much past forty. He seemed to be muttering to himself, but as he drew nearer it became clear that he was talking to his dog, like lonely people talk to their pets when they have no other friends. 

"Here we are, then. Number twelve, was it? The one over there, with the dark brick façade and the windows boarded up on the ground floor?" 

He paused, as if expecting the dog to reply, but the dog, a big, shaggy black creature, stood quite silent and motionless, contemplating the house the man had indicated.

"Right, then," said the man. "Looks like we're early. Let's take a little walk around the square while we wait, shall we?"

"Wait for whom?" a deep voice growled behind them. 

The man in the trench coat whipped round, reaching into his coat, but the moment he came face to face with the speaker, he relaxed immediately and even smiled, if still a little nervously. The appearance of the newcomer, however, was not of a sort that would usually invite smiles, even nervous ones. He was an elderly man, wearing a long black travelling cloak over his slightly hunched shoulders and a bowler hat that sat lopsidedly on his grizzled dark hair, covering his right eye – but it could not conceal the fact that the man had a large chunk missing from his nose, as if it had been bitten off by a ferocious dog. Perhaps that was the reason why he was eyeing the black dog next to the younger man rather suspiciously. 

"Waiting for me, were you? I was waiting for _you_. Where are the others? And what did you bring that dog for?" 

"Just for company. Nice to meet you, Alastor." The younger man offered his hand to the newcomer, who didn't take it. 

"We don't want to draw attention to ourselves, Lupin," he growled instead.

"We don't," confirmed Lupin, and his smile widened. "Only we figured we'd attract far _more_ attention if we had Sirius Black wandering around the heart of London in his usual form."

Alastor Moody let out a low rasp of breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "Oh yes, of course," he said. "Dumbledore told me. Brilliant achievement for a fifth year student, by the way. So this is what you look like," and he gave the dog a gruff but good-natured pat on the head. "You'd better wait until we're inside then. And if that old crook doesn't turn up this instant, we're going without him."

"He'll come," replied Lupin.

"He'd better be quick about it," Moody muttered. "We can't stand here forever… got to keep moving… not linger in one place too long, makes you vulne  – over here, quick!" The last words were spoken in an urgent whisper, and Moody caught the other man by the sleeve and pulled him out of the circle of light from the street lamp they'd been standing under. 

A third figure had appeared on the far side of the square, looking even more like a  shabby tramp than the other two, with his mop of ginger hair and unshaved face. He walked straight towards them across the brownish patch of lawn in the middle of the square, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat, which seemed to be several sizes too large for him. 

"About time," Moody growled as he stepped forward to meet him. 

"'Evenin', guv," the other replied, not bothering to take his hands out of his pockets. "Now, where're we s'pposed to go? An' what's the dog doin' 'ere?"

"Never you mind," Moody said. "We've got to get a move on. Let's see if we can get in." 

He turned his back on the others and opened the wrought-iron gate that led to the door steps of number twelve. 

"Too much light," he muttered, looking up sourly at the street lamps, but then he shrugged and moved up the steps. 

The others followed, grouping around the large black front door with the brass No. 12 on it, the figures blind with age. The door had neither handle nor keyhole, but there was a large door knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent in the centre of it, and a frayed bell string that looked as if it might crumble in the hand of whoever touched it. 

"You'd better check if the coast is clear," Lupin whispered.

"That's what I'm doing," Moody replied, staring at the door, and then moving his gaze to the left, to the right and up to the windows of the first and second floor. "No sign of any living creature, beast, being or spirit," he reported. 

"D'you reckon we're safe then?" the man with the ginger hair asked. 

"I can see through closed doors, not into the future, Mundungus," Moody replied irritably. "Never reckon you're safe, anywhere or any time."

He drew out his wand and pointed it at the door. "_Alohomora__."_

Nothing happened. He tapped the door in different places, still without effect. Finally, he pocketed his wand again and pushed his shoulder against the door, but it still didn't open. "Am I supposed to blast the whole darn thing down?" he growled. 

"If that is a rhetorical question, go ahead," Lupin smiled. 

"You have a better idea then?"

"Oh, move over," Mundungus interrupted them, pushing Moody unceremoniously aside. He produced a little instrument from somewhere inside his coat that looked like a pocket knife, only with several blades, one very fine and thin, one crooked, one broad and flat. He tapped the door with the fine and thin blade in the place where the keyhole would normally be. There was a soft _click._ Next he pushed the broad blade into the narrow gap between the door and the frame and moved it up and down carefully until it metal hit metal, and there was a clatter like a chain being released. Then the crooked blade went in, and after about a minute, during which Moody began tapping his foot impatiently, they heard a bolt drawn back, and the door swung open, revealing a dark and dusty hallway. 

"Never underestimate the ol' crook." Mundungus grinned and gave Moody a mock bow. "Step in an' make yourselves at home, gentlemen." 

"No," said Moody, and turned to the dog, which was sitting behind the three men, patiently watching the proceedings. "You go first. It's yours after all." He stepped back to make room, and the dog hesitantly got up and moved towards the darkness of the hallway. It stopped and sniffed. The hair on the back of its neck bristled. But then, with sudden resolution, it walked on through the door into the gloomy hall. The others followed in silence. 

And so it was that Sirius Black, for the first time in almost twenty years, again set foot in the house of his fathers. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lupin, entering last, closed the door behind them and sealed it with a whispered "_Colloportus"_. 

"_Lumos_," muttered Moody, and the pale light from the tip of his wand revealed a view of the front part of a long hallway, and a staircase on their right leading to the upper floors. 

"Blimey," said Mundungus in a low voice, taking a few more steps into the hall, looking around at the dark wooden panelling that was coming off the walls, the frayed carpet that gave off little clouds of dust under their steps, and the serpent-shaped chandelier hanging from the ceiling, covered in cobwebs. "Blimey," he said again. "Mad-Eye, what is this place?"

"The noble and most ancient house of Black," said a new voice from the door. 

Mundungus gave a start and turned to the now three human faces confronting him. Between Moody and Lupin stood a third man, about Lupin's age, with almost shoulder length dark hair and deep set, equally dark eyes. His face looked rather drawn and wasted in the pale light, but his eyes were curiously alive. 

"Black?" repeated Mundungus, taking a while to put two and two together. "This is _your_ house?"

"Keep your voice down, Mundungus," Moody warned him.

Mundungus's expression changed from surprise to disbelief. "Your own house," he said to Sirius, ignoring Moody's warning. "A nice hideout for a mad mass murderer."

"He's not – " Lupin began. 

"It's not my hideout," said Sirius grimly. "I haven't been here for twenty years. And," he continued, looking around the hall with a sigh, "I'm not sure it's good to be back."

"Has it changed so much?" Lupin asked sympathetically. 

"No, not at all," Sirius replied. "That's what I meant."

He strode forward past Mundungus, his own wand raised and lit. "There used to be a huge portrait on the wall here," he said, pointing at a pair of velvet curtains on the left side of the hall. 

"There still is," Moody said, drawing level with him. "Elderly lady in black and green silk and a lacy bonnet, sitting in a high carved chair. Sleeping."

"That's her," Sirius said. 

"Want to have a look?" Moody asked, reaching for the curtains. 

"No," Sirius said quickly. "I'm afraid I don't feel much like saying hello, after – "

"Sssh!" Lupin hissed suddenly, and now they all heard it – the sound of soft little footsteps, and a small voice muttering to itself. It was coming from somewhere beyond or beneath the far end of the hall, which was in total darkness. The four men held their breath. There was the sound of a door opening, and suddenly they heard the voice clearly. 

"It was the front door, yes, Kreacher must go and see who it is! Mistress doesn't expect guests, she would have told Kreacher. Maybe it's thieves and burglars and murderers!" The voice was close now, hovering just beyond the range of their wand light. 

"Moody," Sirius said in a low voice, "didn't you check the basement before we went in?"

"Nobody told me there was a basement," Moody snarled out of the corner of his mouth, his wand pointed firmly towards the source of the small voice. 

"You could have asked."

"You could have barked." 

There was a tense silence. Even the creature in the shadows had stopped muttering. 

"Whoever you are," Moody suddenly called down the hall, his own voice not so much unlike a dog's bark, "show yourself or you'll regret it!"

There was movement in the darkness, and then a small creature shuffled forward into the wand light, shielding its enormous bulging eyes with a bony, withered hand. It seemed very old, its thin greyish skin hanging around its bones like an oversized piece of clothing. For real clothing, it wore nothing but a grimy loincloth that seemed to be made of an old towel. It had very long, pointed ears, and a nose like a snout. It was clearly a house-elf. 

"What –" Moody said, but Sirius had already lowered his wand. 

"Kreacher," he said. The house-elf gave a little start at being addressed with his name, looked up at the man who had spoken to him, and broke into a wide, toothy grin. 

"Master!" he squeaked excitedly. "It's Master! He's come back at last!" And he bowed to the dusty floor. When he straightened up again, the grin had wavered slightly, threatening to slide off his ugly face, but the elf caught it just in time and forced it back. "He's back, oh, Mistress must hear of it, she must hear it at once, at once!" There was definitely something sly and wicked in his grin now, and sure enough, without warning, the elf suddenly broke into an ear-splitting squealing.  

"He's baaaack! BAAAAAAAACK!!!" he wailed, and then several things happened at once. Moody never got further than "Shut up, you –", while Lupin clapped his hands over his ears, his face screwed up in pain. A second later, the curtains in front of the portrait on the left hand wall had flown open, revealing the ugly sight of the woman in the silk dress, just as Moody had described her, but now wide awake and screaming at the top of her voice.

"YOU!" she screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Sirius, "UNGRATEFUL BRAT THAT YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN, HOW DARE YOU COME SNEAKING BACK INTO THE HOUSE OF YOUR FATHERS, AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT, LIKE A MURDERER – "

"STUPEFY!" yelled Moody, pointing his wand at the painting. A red jet of light shot out of his wand, but it glanced off the canvas as if off an invisible shield. 

"SILENCIO!" shouted Lupin almost at the same time, but with no more luck than Moody. The woman in green and black wailed on, unstunned and unsilenced. 

"BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE, IN THE COMPANY OF SHABBY THIEVES AND CRIMINALS – "

"Ungrateful brat!" the elf repeated happily, adding his squeaky voice to the infernal noise echoing up and down the hallway. "Thieves! Murderers!"

"Hang on," Mundungus said practically, and grabbed the frayed and dusty curtains, trying to yank them shut. They flew out of his hands, refusing to close over the still shrieking painting. Mundungus grabbed them again. "Help me!" he shouted. Lupin came to his aid, and together they managed to cover the portrait.

The silence was so sudden it was almost palpable. Moody let out a low whistle. Lupin wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. Sirius, who had stood rooted to the spot throughout the whole racket, slowly came to life again. He turned away from the curtains covering the portrait, and stared very hard at the little house-elf. The creature flinched under his gaze, and sank into another low bow with a whispered "Master". But when he looked up again, his face was twisted in undisguised hatred, and when he spoke, the wicked grin reached almost from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Welcome home."

Sirius gave the house-elf a murderous look. His wand was still in his hand, and his companions could see his fingers tighten around it.

"Erm, Mundungus," Lupin suddenly said in a casual voice, "how did you know that?" He pointed over his shoulder at the now completely still curtains. 

"Oh, that," Mundungus replied with a grin. "Easy. It's, well, not the first time I've had a portrait in someone's home shout 'thief' and 'burglar' at me, y' know…" He glanced apologetically at Moody, who was frowning deeply. "Anyway, I find the bes' way is to get outta their sight. They all calm down after a while."

"Brilliant," Lupin said approvingly. 

"Useful," Moody admitted with a grunt, apparently not inclined to give Mundungus more credit for his crook's tricks than absolutely necessary. "Right. Let's keep our voices down, have some more light, and take a closer look at the place." 

He pointed his wand at the old-fashioned gas lamps along the walls of the hall, and one after the other, they flickered into life, lighting the hallway from end to end. 

"Hang on," Mundungus said again, looking up and down the hall in confusion. "Where'd that big black dog go?"

"Nowhere," Sirius said, turning sharply on his heel, away from the elf and back to his companions. "Let's go and find the headmaster's portrait. It used to be in the study."

"Nobody ever tells me anythin'," Mundungus muttered. 

"You can stay down here and keep an eye on that elf," Moody instructed Mundungus. "And don't touch anything." 

Mundungus looked injured at the implication, but said nothing. Moody took off his bowler hat, revealing his mismatched eyes, one dark and one electric-blue, and hung the hat over the serpent-shaped ornament on the lower end of the banister. Then they began ascending the stairs to the upper floors. 

"They might have moved him to an unused room," Sirius remarked. "It's quite irritating to have someone like him breathing down your neck when you're writing a letter or reading a book, even if he doesn't comment on it every single time. Look," he said, pointing at a row of plaques on the wall, a grim collection of shrunken house-elf heads, all with the same extremely long ears and snout like nose as the live one downstairs. "How soon do you think Kreacher's going to join them?"

Moody only grunted in reply. They had arrived on the second landing. Several doors led off it. The closest was to their right. 

"You go first," Sirius muttered, standing back to make room for Moody, who raised an eyebrow.

"Anything wrong?" He scanned the closed door to make sure there was nothing unpleasant hiding within. 

"No," Sirius said, not looking at either of his companions, "it's just – "

"This used to be yours?" Lupin guessed.

"Let's get it over then." Without waiting for an answer from Sirius, Moody had turned the serpent-shaped handle and pushed the door open.

"About time," a bored voice greeted them. "I thought you'd never even make it here, after all the racket downstairs. You're lucky you didn't wake the Muggle neighbours." 

Out of a large ornate frame on the wall to their left, a man was looking down at them, his lips curled in a sneer. He was wearing black and green like the woman in the hall, but judging from his hairstyle and his white silk stockings and buckled shoes, his painting was much older. Around his neck was the heavy chain of office with the Hogwarts crest that the headmasters wore on official occasions.

"Well, we're here now, Nigellus," Moody growled. "And you'd better take yourself off back to Dumbledore double quick and tell him that his advance guard has completed its mission successfully and with no casualties."

"Excuse me," the former headmaster replied haughtily. "My _duty_ – " and the tone of his voice left them in no doubt as to what he thought about it, "my duty is to the current Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and to him or her _only._ I would like you to note that I am not taking orders from anyone else, least of all from suspended ex-Aurors, lycanthropes and – " his gaze travelled from Moody and Lupin to Sirius, and he fell silent.

" – mad mass murderers?" Sirius suggested sarcastically.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Headmaster Nigellus, almost affectionately. "You're family after all, Sirius."

"Thanks for reminding me, Phineas," Sirius replied, "just when I'd almost managed to forget."

Phineas Nigellus gave him a thin smile and stroked his pointed black beard.

"I wasn't suspended," Moody grumbled, "I retired."

"And I am not going to waste my time bickering over mere technicalities with you lot," Phineas replied in his earlier haughty tone. "I am going to see Professor Dumbledore now, and if he thinks you worthy of a reply, I _might_ condescend to coming back to tell you." And with a swish of his black and green robes, he was gone, leaving the canvas blank in its frame. 

"Shall we go and have a look at the other rooms until he's back?" Lupin asked.

Sirius shrugged indifferently. "If you like," he said. "I think you will find them all much like this one."

The bedroom they were looking into was in the same state of decay as the rest of the house – dusty, gloomy and almost empty, long fallen into disuse. Except for the bed, there was hardly any sign that it had ever been used at all, and certainly no sign of its last inhabitant having been a fifteen-year-old boy. They waited in silence, Sirius leaning in the doorframe, staring blankly at the wall opposite.  

"You know, this house will be really useful," Moody broke the silence after a while.

"As useful as Mundungus Fletcher?" Sirius asked, not willing to be cheered up so easily. 

"More useful," Moody said. "Big enough to house a fair number if needed, but not too big to hide it. Could even withstand a concerted attack or siege for a while, given the defence was properly organized."

"Speaking of being properly organized," came Phineas Nigellus's voice from the empty frame, followed shortly afterwards by the former headmaster himself, "Professor Dumbledore says well done to no casualties – he _did _seem surprised about that – and he will be with you first thing in the morning. You, that's Sirius and Lupin, are to stay here until he joins you. Mad-Eye Moody and the crook can go home. Under no circumstances is Sirius to leave the house. Take a note for Professor Dumbledore of anything unexpected that you find in the house, but don't attempt to change or get rid of it yourself."

"Does that include Kreacher?" Sirius asked innocently. 

"Kreacher?" Phineas Nigellus seemed puzzled.

"Well, what are we supposed to do with him?"

"Do you mean he is still there?"

Moody and Sirius exchanged a look. 

"Do you mean you didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't," said Phineas in his most dignified tone. "There are no paintings in the _kitchen_, you know. And besides, I doubt I have spent much more time in this house than you over the last twenty years, Sirius. I dare say I've always found your mother's company slightly less unpleasant than you did, but life in this place did not improve with her death - particularly not in the hall, as you have already found out, if my ears have not deceived me. Now, if you please, gentlemen, I don't know about you but _I _at least should like to get _some_ rest tonight." And he made to move out of the frame.

"Good night," Moody called after him. "And tell Dumbledore not to ring the doorbell!" 

But Phineas Nigellus was already gone. 

Lupin slowly turned to Sirius, who met his eyes with a rather stubborn look on his face.

"That was – your _mother?_" Lupin asked very quietly. 

Sirius nodded grimly. "That was her. I always told you you didn't want to meet her, didn't I? I hope you believe me now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When they came back down to the hall, Moody's bowler hat was still there, but both Mundungus Fletcher and the house-elf were gone. 

"That old villain," Moody grumbled. "Useful maybe, but as unreliable as a bunch of pixies hired to do your spring cleaning."

"Maybe he went looking for the dog," Lupin suggested. "He can't have gone far."

There was a loud noise somewhere beneath their feet, much like several boxes clattering to the ground, and the muffled sound of cursing. Moody scanned the stone floor of the hall with his magical eye. 

"He's in the kitchen," he reported. 

"Through here," Sirius pointed at the door at the far end of the hall, which stood ajar. 

"Moody," asked Lupin as they made their way downstairs to the basement, "did you really ever hire a bunch of pixies to do your spring cleaning?"

"Of course not," Moody said indignantly. "Old Mrs Jones once did. They turned the place upside down and we were called in because she claimed her house had been attacked and searched by a troop of Death Eaters. It only turned out later that she'd made the story up because she was so embarrassed the pixie idea didn't work. Next time she called us, nobody was in a hurry to come and check. Too bad her story was true that time around. Here we are."

They had arrived in the kitchen of No. 12, Grimmauld Place. It was a low but very large room, taking up most of the basement. There was a sense of disuse and dilapidation about it, just like about the rooms upstairs, but a merrily crackling fire in the fireplace made it a lot less gloomy than the rest of the house. The crude brick walls glowed in an almost golden light. 

Mundungus Fletcher emerged from a door on the right that led to a pantry. He was quite red in the face. 

"You told me to keep an eye on the elf," he explained, "so I followed it down 'ere. It lives in the boiler cupboard, over there." He nodded at the door opposite the pantry. "Went in an' banged the door shut. I thought I'd have a look aroun', but I couldn' find anythin' useful. The butterbeer's all gone sour."

Moody gave him a disapproving look. "Listen," he said, "Dumbledore says you can go, so we'll be off in a minute. You two," he turned to Lupin and Sirius, "don't touch anything that looks or sounds dodgy. Don't try and – "

"We heard what Phineas Nigellus said, Alastor," Lupin reminded him.

"All right then. Keep an eye on the elf, and don't take anything he might offer you to eat or drink."

"Can I just put him on the wall next to his precious ancestors?" Sirius snarled. "'Cause that's where he belongs."

"Let's wait what Dumbledore's got to say to that," Lupin suggested. "He might be of some use yet. He could do all the cooking and cleaning for us, couldn't he?"

"Look around, Remus," said Sirius. "Does it look to you as if that excuse for a house-elf has even _touched_ a broom or a cooking spoon in _years?_"

"Well, there are other ways of getting rid of him," Lupin replied patiently. "House-elves do change employers sometimes."

"Which means I'm supposed to walk up to the House Elf Relocation office in the Ministry tomorrow morning and say, look, I'm Sirius Black, and I don't want to share my hideout with my family's old house-elf, would you mind finding him a new employer he can insult instead?" Sirius's voice had grown very loud, echoing angrily around the bare kitchen. 

"Look," said Lupin, suddenly looking very tired, "let's give the matter a rest until tomorrow. One day won't make a difference."

"All right then," Moody said again, putting his bowler hat back on his grizzled hair, hiding the magical eye. "I'll see you around. Good night. Although I wouldn't sleep at all if I were you. You never know. Every blanket, every bed sheet in this house could be a Lethifold."

"There are no Lethifolds in Britain, Moody," Lupin said with a yawn. 

"So said old Obadiah Mimbleton, but they never found his body," Moody said gruffly. "Don't say you haven't been warned. Come on, Mundungus."

* * *

They listened to the receding footsteps crossing the hall overhead, Mundungus Fletcher almost inaudible, no doubt from long practise, and Moody with his characteristic wooden-legged _clunk _in every other step. A moment later, the front door fell shut. 

Sirius practically collapsed into a chair next to the fireplace, put his elbow on the long kitchen table and his head in his hand. Silent and brooding, he stared into the fire. 

"Have _you_ ever heard of Obadiah Mimbleton?" Lupin asked, taking off his trench coat and putting it over the back of another chair. "Right," he continued when his friend didn't react. "Let's make ourselves comfortable then. I'll have a look around and see about some food, shall I?"

"Drink, more like," Sirius said without looking up. "And something stronger than butterbeer, if you please."

Lupin went into the pantry, and after rummaging around in it for a short while, he returned with a bottle filled with a liquid of a colour between gold and copper. 

"Nothing fit for eating," he reported. "But I found this. Although it could be furniture polish for all we know. Not that any of the furniture in this house looks like it's been polished recently."

"I don't care what it is," Sirius said indifferently. 

Lupin found two glasses on a dusty sideboard, uncorked the bottle, sniffed at the contents and gave an appreciative little nod. "It's a miracle Mundungus overlooked this." He filled a glass for Sirius and one for himself, sat down on his chair and kicked off his trainers. "What shall we drink to then?" he asked cheerfully. "To old times reborn?"

"To old times past and gone forever," Sirius said darkly, still staring into the fire. 

Lupin put his glass down again without touching his drink, and opened his mouth to protest. But Sirius only shrugged, reached for his own glass and downed his drink in one go. 

"Look," said Lupin in a very quiet and composed voice. "I do understand how hard it is for you to be back here after so long, and after all that's happened. But you knew that. You knew it wouldn't be easy. _You _offered the house to Dumbledore to be our Headquarters, after all. It was your wish. It was your own _idea _even."

"Yeah, it was. I meant to hand it over to Dumbledore to do with as he pleases. He can burn the whole place down for all I care. But I didn't mean to get stuck in here, here of all places, for the rest of my life." 

"Don't be ridiculous. You won't be stuck in here for the rest of your life. Things have only just started. Just wait till the place has been set up properly, and then you'll – you'll –" Lupin broke off, not knowing what to say.

"Then I'll what?" snapped Sirius, meeting Lupin's eyes for the first time since the others had left. "You heard Phineas Nigellus. 'Under no circumstances is Sirius to leave the house'." He imitated the former headmaster's drawling tone. "Do you really think this has anything to do with the _house?_" 

There was a short silence. It rang with Sirius's anger.

"Well, at least it will keep people from _patting_ me on the _head_," he concluded dryly. 

"Moody meant it nicely," said Lupin quickly.

"That doesn't help."

Lupin silently sipped at his drink. Sirius was staring into the fire again. The flickering light illuminated his brooding, once handsome face, deep shadows marking his hollow cheeks and furrowed brow.

"I've been going around in a circle, Remus," he said slowly. "I'm back where I started when I was fifteen, as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. Lost years, wasted years, stolen years." He reached across the table for the bottle and refilled his glass. 

"That's not true," Lupin said firmly. "It's not true, and you know it."

"Yeah, there _were_ some things that happened in between, now that you mention it," Sirius said sarcastically and raised his glass in a mock toast. "To James and Lily then, and how I wish they'd taken me with them just when I was the happiest I've ever been in my entire life." 

Another glassful went down in one go. But Lupin set his own glass back on the table with a sharp _clang._

"Don't say that," he said rather loudly, his voice shaking with suppressed emotion. 

"Why not, if it's true?"

"Because that's not what they died for, Sirius. They believed in something. They believed in what they, what we were all doing. They gave their lives so we others could continue, so that we could finish the great task of our time. They didn't die because they wanted to spare themselves the trouble of living, Sirius."

Sirius looked up angrily. "You're saying I'm insulting their memory then, are you?"

"I'm not saying anything of that sort," Lupin replied firmly. "All I'm saying is that it's up to you whether all these years will be lost and wasted in the end. Think of what lies ahead of us, Sirius. Think of Harry. Harry needs you."

For a moment, Sirius's face brightened, and the light from the fireplace lit a spark in his dark eyes that had not been there before. Lupin saw it and smiled to himself while Sirius nodded slowly.

"Yeah, Harry," Sirius said quietly. "Harry. I hope he's a littlehappier where _he_ is right now. He'd deserve it, you know." He fell silent, but the light in his eyes remained. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

A pale morning light was filtering through the dusty windows high up in the walls of the kitchen at No. 12, Grimmauld Place, when with a faint little _pop_, Albus Dumbledore materialised out of nowhere in the middle of the room. He straightened his purple robes and looked around. A peaceful sight met his eyes. The fire, no longer kept alive by either wood or magic, had died down, the embers still glowing faintly. In the chairs next to it were two sleeping figures. One of them was curled up sideways in his chair, covered with a shabby trench coat. The other's head had sunk forward onto his arm which was flung out across the rough surface of the wooden table, a few strands of his long dark hair falling over his face. A bottle and two glasses were still on the table, all empty. 

Dumbledore smiled down at the motionless figures, then turned his attention to the stove in the corner under the windows, and pointing his wand, lit a fire in it. Next, he pointed at a large copper frying pan hanging on the wall, which promptly detached itself from its hook and obediently slid down onto the stove with a soft clatter. The sleeper under the trench coat stirred. 

"Good morning," said Dumbledore quietly, his back still turned to them, now taking several eggs out of the pockets of his robes and cracking them open with a sharp tap of his wand. They slid down into the pan with a hiss that made the man under the trench coat open his eyes and raise his head. 

"Albus!" Remus Lupin exclaimed, and suddenly wide awake, jumped to his feet. The coat fell down on the floor, and Lupin almost tripped over it, reaching across the table to shake the other sleeper by the shoulder. "Sirius, wake up, Dumbledore's here!"

"What?" the other man grunted, opening one eye to the morning light and closing it again quickly with a groan. 

"Albus, I'm so sorry," Lupin said, blushing to the roots of his greying hair. "We meant to stay awake, or take turns sleeping, but then – "

"Then you fell victim to the ancient magic of Ogden's Old Firewhisky, as I can see," Dumbledore finished the sentence for him, still smiling. He took the pan from the fire. Lupin came to assist him, picking up some plates and cups from the sideboard. He blew a thick layer of dust off each of them and set the table for breakfast. 

"I hope you have at least been drinking to the success of our mission," Dumbledore continued, putting the pan down on the table so close to Sirius's head that Sirius jumped and finally pulled himself upright. 

"Morning," he muttered, blinking at the pan full of fried eggs, bacon and toast with bloodshot eyes. 

"We're sorry," Lupin repeated.

"Kreacher can make tea," Sirius offered by way of an apology, helping himself to breakfast with a hungry sigh. 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Kreacher?" 

Sirius's hand stopped somewhere in mid-air, suspended halfway between his plate and the pan. He and Lupin exchanged a guilty look.

"The Blacks' old house-elf," Lupin explained quickly. "He lives in the boiler cupboard over there. We met him last night. Didn't Phineas Nigellus tell you?"

Dumbledore looked quickly over his shoulder at the cupboard Lupin had indicated, and for a split second saw the grey face of a house-elf with very long ears and a snout-like nose peering out of the crack between the door and the wall. Then it was gone. 

"No, Phineas did not tell me," Dumbledore said. "The elf witnessed your arrival?"

"I'm afraid he did," said Lupin. "He turned up when we were in the hall."

"Did he recognise you?" Dumbledore asked Sirius, who finally lowered his hand and nodded grimly. 

Dumbledore sighed, and turned towards the cupboard door again. "Kreacher?" he said in a loud but friendly voice. "Kreacher, come out here, please. I would like a word with you." Nothing happened. The door remained shut. "Nobody wants to harm you, Kreacher," Dumbledore continued. "We just need to talk." Again, there was no reaction. 

"Kreacher!" Sirius suddenly thundered, banging his fist down on the table. "You do as you're told and get out of there, or I'll come and _get_ you!"

Dumbledore gave Sirius a slightly irritated look, but then the door creaked open and the house-elf stepped out of the cupboard. 

"It's the only language he understands," Sirius shrugged. 

"Master called?" the elf asked in his squeaky voice, forcing a toothy smile.

"I called you," said Dumbledore. "I wonder if you could make us some tea."

The elf looked from Dumbledore back to Sirius, but made no reply. 

"Go on, do as you're told," Sirius barked at him. 

The elf sank into a low bow. "If it pleases Master," he muttered. "Kreacher must do as he's bid, even if Master is an ungrateful brat, and a murderer too, they say… poor Mistress, if she knew, faithful Kreacher making tea for a murderer…" Kreacher shuffled over to the pantry, still muttering under his breath. 

Dumbledore sat down at the table, apparently quite satisfied. 

"Tea," said Sirius grumpily. "Why didn't you ask him if he wanted to be sacked?"

"House-elves do not like to be sacked, as you well know," Dumbledore replied, helping himself to some breakfast, too. "And they are usually too well trained to answer any question with the truth, rather than with what they think their masters want to hear. You have to judge their actions, not their words. I know everything I need to know now. This elf knows who you are, which makes it far too dangerous for us to have him relocated – but he's still taking your orders, which makes it quite acceptable that he should stay. He will be the least trouble that way."

"What about judging this one's _words_, too?" 

"What would you do with him then?"

"Put his head on the wall next to his predecessors?"

Dumbledore put down his fork and knife and gave Sirius a very grave look through his half-moon glasses. "I do hope, Sirius" he said in a quiet but firm voice, "that if you ever in your life have to kill a living creature, it will be for a much better reason."

Sirius looked down at his plate and said nothing. Lupin shifted uneasily in his chair. 

"And now, gentlemen," Dumbledore continued, picking up his fork and knife again, "we had better eat up and start working on the house. I have better things to do with my time than providing two hung-over bachelors with breakfast."

Sirius and Lupin now blushed simultaneously, very much like two schoolboys caught without any homework done. 

"I would suggest, as it is no doubt in the best interest of your own safety," Dumbledore said, a little smile playing around his lips, "that we start by making this place Apparation-proof?"

* * *

"Did you find anything else unexpected last night? Apart from the house-elf?" Dumbledore asked as the three of them made their way upstairs. Kreacher had taken his time about the tea, finally emerging from the pantry with a teapot full of hot water, claiming that there was, to his infinite regret, no tea in the house to offer to the gentlemen that had dared to trespass on his mistress's property. Sirius had told him to use the hot water for the washing up, and they had left the elf to it. 

"The house has always been Unplottable, as well as Muggle-repellent," Sirius answered Dumbledore's question. "I don't think the spell's worn off entirely, or maybe some Muggle would have started wondering about the house. But maybe it needs a little refreshing."

"The front door was sealed with more than _Colloportus__," _Lupin added. "It might be password protected. Mundungus got us in last night."

"And," Sirius said, lowering his voice as they emerged from the kitchen staircase into the hallway, "we've got a huge problem here in the hall."

"Which is?"

"Her," Sirius said, pointing at the curtains covering his mother's portrait. "My mother. Wake her up and she shouts the house down."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "Phineas hinted that you had an argument with a portrait downstairs last night. He did not give me any details. Well, shall we see whether we can talk reason to Anastasia Black?"

Sirius shrugged. "That's another thing that probably hasn't improved with her death." 

Lupin only covered his ears with his hands. 

Dumbledore strode forward and pulled the moth-eaten velvet curtains open. The woman in the painting opened her eyes, so wide that they threatened to pop out of her head, but this time she seemed so taken aback at whom she was facing that there was a second's silence before she started shrieking. 

"YOU!" She pointed a thick finger at Dumbledore. "YOU! YOU'RE BEHIND ALL THIS! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN! YOU ESTRANGED THE BOY FROM ME IN THE FIRST PLACE, MADE HIM A TRAITOR TO HIS OWN BLOOD, AND NOW YOU DARE SET FOOT IN MY HOUSE!" 

"Yes, I do," Dumbledore said calmly, and to the surprise of the other two, Mrs Black shut her mouth and listened. "But I should like to remind you that this is no longer your house, but your son's, since you're actually dead."

Lupin lowered his hands, shaking his head in disbelief, but was forced to clap them over his ears again when Dumbledore had finished.

"INFAMY! DEAD! ME! I WILL NOT BE INSULTED LIKE THIS IN MY OWN HOUSE!" Mrs Black shrieked.

"This is not your house!" Sirius shouted back at her. "It's mine, and you're going to leave it as soon as - " But his words did not have the same silencing effect on Mrs Black as Dumbledore's. 

"YOU'RE NO SON OF MINE!" she screamed as soon as Sirius had opened his mouth, drowning his voice with her shrill tones that made the gas lamps along the wall rattle. "NO SON OF MINE! TRAITOR TO YOUR OWN BLOOD! DISGRACE OF THE FAMILY!"

Dumbledore, apparently completely undisturbed by the ear-splitting noise, had drawn out his wand and was tracing a line around the portrait, just inside the frame. 

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Mrs Black shrieked, sounding horrified. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH ME!"

"I'm not touching you," Dumbledore assured her very politely, and Sirius and Lupin relaxed for the few seconds of comparative silence his words gave them. "I am merely taking precautions." Next, he tried to move the tip of his wand between the frame and the wall, accompanied by more outbursts of "TRAITOR! DISGRACE!" on the part of Mrs Black. "I might have known," he said to himself. "What a pity." And without any effort at all, he pulled the velvet curtains shut. Silence fell. 

Lupin took his hands away from his ears and let out a great sigh. "It's definitely the wrong time of the month for this," he muttered. 

"What did you do there?" Sirius asked Dumbledore. 

"I sealed her frame," Dumbledore replied. "The _Collopictus_ spell. It is not, although its name suggests it is, related to the _Colloportus_ one. But its effect is similar. At least we can be sure now that she can't get out of this painting and visit other portraits of hers, and betray us."

"Other portraits of hers?" Sirius asked incredulously. "Who'd want _my mother's_ portrait in their house?"

"We cannot be sure," said Dumbledore. "But that danger is now averted."

"Can't we just take her down?" Lupin asked hopefully, still seeming a little shaken. "Or turn her around to face the wall or something?"

"I'm afraid not," said Dumbledore. "The painting is sealed to the wall with a Permanent Sticking charm. The trouble is, a Permanent Sticking charm can only be countered by the person that performed it in the first place. So if that person is dead…"

"You mean there's no way of getting rid of the old hag?" Sirius asked. 

"Other than tearing the whole wall down with her, I am afraid there isn't."

Sirius snorted in disgust.

"Just keep her covered at all times, and avoid noise in the entrance hall. That is all we can do. Which is a pity," Dumbledore added and looked around, "as I had thought that the hall would make a good meeting place. It looks like we will have to use the kitchen instead. Ah well, it's cosier down there at any rate. Now, let's get started. We will begin with the attic and work our way downwards from there."

Dumbledore moved briskly towards the staircase. Sirius and Lupin followed.

"It will take a while to make the house Apparation-proof," Dumbledore explained on the way up, as if they were in class. "It would be easier if this was not a terraced house. As it is, we can't draw our line around it on the outside, at least not without tracing the whole block – which would look decidedly suspicious to any Muggle watching, and much more suspicious to any witch or wizard in the neighbourhood trying to Apparate home from work tonight and finding themselves unable to."

"_Do_ any other witches or wizards live around here?" Lupin asked with a note of unease in his voice. 

"Of course not," Dumbledore said. "That's another reason why this place is ideal for our purposes." He gave Sirius a smile. "As I was saying, we will have to trace each room individually, on the inside, including the attic, the bathrooms, the corridors, the walk-in cupboards and also all secret rooms if there are any. Be sure to do it carefully. If in doubt, do it twice. Leave the slightest gap in your line, and the whole house will remain open for Apparation. That's what happened to the Ministry of Magic, you know. There is a leak somewhere, and it has never been detected. That's why people keep Apparating at will in and out of what should be considered a high security building."

"Why don't they just do it all over again to make sure?" Sirius asked. 

"You see, not all the rooms in the Ministry are accessible any longer," Dumbledore replied. "And besides, I would not make myself very popular at the moment if I were to suggest to Cornelius Fudge that he might want to reconsider his security policy regarding Ministry buildings." There was a silence. Dumbledore's remark required no further explanation. "And maybe I wouldn't be doing myself a favour, even if he did listen," he added thoughtfully. 

Sirius and Lupin exchanged a puzzled look. 

"This house, however," Dumbledore continued, "should be manageable enough. It will take time, but I dare say within about a week this place will be the best Headquarters the Order of the Phoenix ever had."

Sirius stopped dead on the stairs. "A _week_?" he asked. "You're saying I'll be stuck in this house for a _week_ before anything happens at all?"

Dumbledore turned around to Sirius, four steps below and looking up at him with a deep frown on his face. "I'm afraid so," he said. "But there will be enough to do for all of us, I assure you."

Sirius still looked unhappy when they continued their way up to the attic. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Making the house Apparation-proof was a tedious business indeed. Sirius and Lupin, following Dumbledore's example, drew invisible lines around the walls of one room after another with the tips of their wands, while Dumbledore performed a long and complicated incantation on each room that had been traced in this way. The work required a lot of moving furniture, climbing on chairs and crawling into dark corners on their hands and knees – and all this in a house that had been falling into a state of decay for more than ten years. Every single room was full of dust and grime and insects crawling around under the furniture, giving them bites that stung like acid until they got rid of them with a wave of their wand – which meant living with the stinging until a room was fully traced, or breaking their lines and starting anew. Some of the furnishings in the bedrooms crumbled into dust under their hands. At one point, in a particularly large room, Sirius sneezed so violently that he broke his line and had to start all over again, the intensity of his cursing now easily matching that of his sneezing. Lupin did another bedroom twice when he discovered that he had left out a curtained-off recess that he had taken for a window. 

It was after lunchtime when they had finished with the attic, the third and the second floor, and moved down to the first floor. Dumbledore took care of the drawing room with the large windows that gave onto the square, while Lupin chose the small bedroom at the back of the house that Sirius had felt so uneasy about entering the night before. 

He was in the process of tracing his wand around a heavy bedside cabinet that would not be moved, squatting down on his heels to make sure he got neatly around it, when a voice behind him said maliciously, "I didn't know your kind crawled on all fours _between_ two full moons, too." 

Lupin paused, but did not bother to break the contact between his wand and the wall to look around at Phineas Nigellus in his frame. 

"Don't disturb me," he said evenly, and continued with his task.

"Listen, I have a very important message for Professor Dumbledore," Phineas said in a casual tone. "Don't you think he might like to hear it?"

"He might," Lupin replied. "When I've finished this. You can wait till then."

"I seem to remember that I told you before," Nigellus said smoothly, folding his arms across his chest, "that I do not take orders from werewolves."

Lupin gave the former headmaster a very dirty look over his shoulder. 

"Mind your line, Remus," Nigellus sneered at him. 

"Mind your manners, Phineas," said Dumbledore's voice from the open door. 

Phineas Nigellus had the grace to blush, if only slightly. "I have a message for you from Minerva McGonagall," he reported in as submissive a voice as he could make it without sounding entirely unconvincing. "She'll be with you this evening to inform you personally of the situation down in Surrey. She has also spoken to a few more people, most of them former students of hers, but she will give you the names herself." The former headmaster looked rather offended at being left out of a secret. 

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "If you can catch her before she leaves, kindly remind her that none of us have had the opportunity to do any shopping today, so a small bite for dinner would be greatly appreciated."

Phineas inclined his head towards Dumbledore – the closest he would ever come to a bow – and vanished, leaving the canvas blank.

"Don't mind him, Remus," said Sirius, who had joined Dumbledore on the landing outside the door. "He's a little too convinced of his own importance, but other than that, he's not worse than the average Slytherin."

* * *

It was dark outside by the time they assembled in the hallway again. Lupin had been busy down in the basement for the last hour, while Dumbledore and Sirius between them had completed the first floor and the ground floor, which luckily consisted only of two large rooms and the hall. 

  
"Kreacher was extremely interested in what I was doing," Lupin reported. "But I think he didn't really get it. All he realises is that this place is being taken over by the very people his mistress has taught him to despise most of all wizardkind. And he does not take it kindly."

"He wouldn't take it kindly if his life depended on it," Sirius snarled, sounding very much as if he wished that it did.

"It is very unusual for a house-elf to despise anyone of wizardkind at all," Dumbledore remarked. 

"You can't expect a servant to be better than their masters," said Sirius harshly. 

"That is a grave error," Dumbledore replied evenly. 

"Not in this case."

There was a rather uncomfortable silence.

"It took me a while to lure him away from his cupboard under a pretext," said Lupin finally, "but I managed. Grimy place."

"Then the spell should be complete," Dumbledore said, "unless there are any secret rooms that we have overlooked."

"There are no secret rooms in this house," Sirius said. "Not with my oh so law-abiding parents. The family's riches have always been at Gringotts, and other than that the Blacks never had reason to make a secret of what sort of wizards they were. And unless you've overlooked the private bathroom off my mother's bedroom on the second floor, which is behind a door in the panelling but not exactly secret, we're done."

"Then we must try our luck," said Dumbledore, getting ready to Disapparate.

At precisely that moment, the doorbell rang. It was a sharp clanking sound, the silver bells over the door dancing wildly in the gaslight. Inevitably, a split second later, the curtains in front of the portrait flew open again, and Mrs Black's voice seemed to five times amplify the shrill ringing of the bells. 

"SCUM! DISGRACE! DISTURB MY WELL EARNED REST! INFAMY!"       

Lupin screwed up his face again, but Dumbledore quickly pulled the curtains closed with one hand as he passed the portrait on his way to the front door.   
  


"That must be Minerva," he said cheerfully, and without the slightest hesitation opened the door wide. 

"You're dead," the man outside said in a gruff voice. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Nonsense," said a second, female voice disapprovingly. "Look who it is, Alastor."

"I saw who it is, Minerva, and quite a while before you did, too."

"And you think Albus Dumbledore needs your advice on whether or not to open the door to old friends?"

"Albus Dumbledore thinks that old friends are always welcome to our new Headquarters," Dumbledore's own voice said. "As for being dead, I can assure you he is in the best of health and has no intention what so ever of allowing this situation to change any time in the near future. Come in." 

And he moved aside to reveal Minerva McGonagall and Mad-Eye Moody standing on the doorstep, Moody in his usual travelling cloak and bowler hat, holding in each hand two huge brown paper bags with the name of a Muggle supermarket printed across them in big orange letters. Professor McGonagall wore a flower print Muggle dress and sandals, a cardigan, and a headscarf. They entered, McGonagall in the lead, and Dumbledore closed the door behind them.  

  
"We couldn't Apparate," she said approvingly. "Congratulations. You've kept at it, I must say." She smiled at Lupin and Sirius, taking in the dusty fronts of their robes, the cobwebs in Lupin's hair and the dark smudges on Sirius's face where he'd wiped his hair off it with dirty hands. "Well done, you two." 

For a moment, they both felt as if they were back in class, earning Professor McGonagall's approval for a particularly neat transfiguration. 

Dumbledore, apparently struck by a similar thought, chuckled softly. "Yes, it has been a very long time since either of us made Sirius and Remus do lines, hasn't it?" he said. "And I have never seen them set to it more willingly, or perform the task more diligently than today. They have been of invaluable help."

"Oh, lines," Sirius said, and the shadow of a smile appeared on his once handsome face. "It was always James and me who had to do lines, never Remus."

"James, yes," Dumbledore said, and they all fell silent. But there was nothing awkward about it. It was a silence full of the warmth of shared memories. Professor McGonagall's eyes were glistening strangely when Dumbledore's voice finally brought them back to the reality of the gloomy hallway. 

"Shall we go downstairs then?" he suggested. "We can talk more comfortably there."

McGonagall nodded. 

"Not me," Moody said briskly. "I just came along to give Minerva a hand with the bags, I must be on my way again. I'll be taking the nightshift down in Surrey."

"Surrey," Sirius repeated, his face brightening again. "You'll tell me – "

"_I_ will, Sirius," McGonagall said, putting a hand on his arm. "I've been sitting on Arabella Figg's porch with her and her other cats for a whole afternoon. Let us go down to the kitchen," she took the bulging bags from Moody, "and I will tell you all I know of how your godson is faring at _his_ home."

* * * 

The evening meal was a feast. Professor McGonagall's bags seemed magically bottomless, and even when the table was laden with all kinds of delicacies from the Hogwarts kitchens, there still seemed to be enough left to feed a small army for several days. Sirius instructed Kreacher, who was eyeing the food more curiously than the newcomer that had brought it, to store it all in the pantry, and the elf went about it with an eager gleam in his eyes that proved he was as hungry as they were. He even forgot to add anything offensive to his "Yes, Master". 

"What news from Surrey then, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked as they began their meal. 

McGonagall, who was not as famished as the three men who had been stuck in the house all day, began her account, while the others ate and listened. 

"All is well in Surrey, as far as Arabella and I could see. Harry doesn't look very happy – " she glanced at Sirius, who was frowning, and added quickly, "but then, how could you expect him to be, after all that has happened recently? There have been no incidents between him and his Muggle family. He seems to try to avoid them as much as possible."

"He'd write to me about it if they did him any harm," Sirius said. 

"Doubtless he would," Minerva McGonagall agreed. "I assure you, Sirius, that Harry is being taken good care of by all of us. Arabella is very fond of him, and takes her duties very seriously. She says he likes to be on his own. He goes for long walks, and sits in the little park near his family's house for hours on end. She sees him there when she does her shopping. But he never strays very far from the house, so Arabella and I agreed it is sufficient that one of us keep watch at night."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. 

"Arabella also says he likes to read the headlines of the Muggle newspapers at the newsagent's, until the man there tells him to either buy a copy or be gone. He's as hungry for news as we all are."

"And the _Daily Prophet_ being useless, he must be completely in the dark of what's going on," Sirius grumbled. "It's not fair."

"It's for Harry's own good," Dumbledore said firmly. "Given the Minister's attitude, we must be extremely careful about how and what we communicate to anyone outside the Order. And I do not want the boy to worry more than he, without doubt, already does."

"Harry's not just anyone outside the Order," Sirius protested. "And he's no longer a child. He saw Voldemort come back. He almost got killed."

"And that," Dumbledore replied, "would be more than enough of a burden to carry for any grown up wizard. That's exactly why I don't want Harry to have to bear more than he absolutely needs to know." He folded his hands on his lap and turned back to Professor McGonagall, the debate clearly closed. "Tell us about the people you've talked to, Minerva."

"I have achieved very mixed results with them," Professor McGonagall reported. "We must not underestimate to what extreme extent people are willing to close their eyes to the obvious, in exchange for a little peace of mind. They find it so hard to let go of their own comfortable truths. Even old Mrs Jones, who lost one of her daughters in the first war, told me outright that if the _Daily Prophet_ said it wasn't true _he_ was back, it wasn't."

"Mrs Jones? The one with the pixies?" Lupin asked. 

McGonagall frowned. "I don't know about pixies. I'm talking about the mother of Heather and Hestia Jones. Two very sweet girls, back at Hogwarts. Both in Ravenclaw, if I recall correctly. Heather wasn't even in the Order, the poor thing. She was just in love – in love with a young man who turned out to be a Death Eater. She was so shocked when she found out that in her anger and disappointment, she threatened to tell all the world about it and discredit him publicly for what he was. But You Know Who had her tracked down and killed before she ever got the chance to tell anyone – that is, anyone except her younger sister Hestia, who was still at school at that time, and wise enough to keep the information to herself. Pixies," she said, shaking her head. Lupin looked slightly guilty.

"As I was saying," McGonagall continued, "old Mrs Jones wouldn't listen, but Hestia did. She remembers her older sister fondly, and she says she'll be ready whenever we call her."

"Good girl," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. 

"Next, Sturgis Podmore," Professor McGonagall went on. 

Dumbledore frowned slightly at the name. 

"He was in Hufflepuff. The one that had the breakdown and backed out of the Order after they blew up Benjamin Fenwick."

"I remember _who_ he was," said Dumbledore with a sigh. "And I cannot blame him. He was young then – very young. It was a mistake to admit someone into the Order who was still at school. Fenwick was his hero – he used to captain the Quidditch team where Podmore was Beater. Small wonder that Fenwick's death hit young Sturgis so hard."

"Well, young Sturgis is now, like the rest of us, fifteen years older," said McGonagall matter-of-factly, "and he almost happily seized the chance to make up for what he called 'abandoning the cause'. I could tell that he has never stopped struggling with that in over fifteen years. He sees this as his second chance – if you will have him."

"Of course I will," Dumbledore confirmed. 

"Then there are the Boneses. I had a long talk with Amelia over tea at her house. She was very good about it, listening patiently to 'our side of the story', as she put it, 'like an impartial judge should'. She consented to keep our conversation private, but she said that she wanted to withhold judgement until she had more facts, and she has also warned me that her position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry would not go well with anything that could possibly compromise her absolute loyalty to the welfare of the entire wizarding community. Mind you," she added, when Sirius gave a derisive snort. "Loyalty to the welfare of the entire wizarding community, she said, not loyalty to the person of Cornelius Fudge. I trust Amelia to know the difference between the two when it comes to it. She even told me that she was far from happy about how Fudge handles some issues, such as the reform of the organizational structure of the Ministry departments, and him consulting independent advisors rather than the Heads of Department about it. And I understand the dilemma she is in."

Albus Dumbledore had looked up sharply at the last piece of information. "The reform of the organizational structure of the Ministry departments?" he asked.

"She said no more than that," Minerva McGonagall replied. "Of course it was news to me, too, but she didn't elaborate. In fact, she hardly more than hinted at it."

"But those were her words, 'Fudge consulting independent advisors about the reform of the organizational structure of the Ministry departments'?" Dumbledore repeated urgently.

"Those were her words," Professor McGonagall confirmed. "And that was all she would say." 

"At least she listened," said Dumbledore, leaning back in his chair as if that settled the matter for him.

"Unlike Edgar's younger sister," McGonagall continued her report. "Rebecca Bones literally closed the door in my face when I called. 'You might not understand this, Minerva,' she said," and there was a distinct note of bitterness in McGonagall's voice, "'but I have children of my own, and I'm not a fool like Edgar was. I feel I have a duty to keep myself and my children alive.' And that was all. She didn't give me a chance to explain myself. In fact, she didn't even wait for me to tell her why I'd called at all. I might have wanted to talk about nothing but her daughter Susan's poor Transfiguration marks, for all she knew." 

Dumbledore, suddenly alarmed, raised an eyebrow. "How did she know then?" he asked, and a very distinct sense of unease crept into the room. 

"I – I don't know," McGonagall said thoughtfully, realising the implications. "I suppose her sister warned her about my intentions, in spite of her promise. Although that is not something Amelia would do."

"No matter," Dumbledore said, a little too quickly. "Tell us about the Aurors, then."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Ah, the Aurors," said Professor McGonagall, glad to change the subject. "They are a tricky lot. The trouble is, there are literally none of them left now from back then. They are all either dead or – or have left active service. And Alastor – well, he won't like me for saying it, but Alastor is not exactly friends with all of the current Aurors. He trained only two of them himself, Dawlish and Shacklebolt. All the others joined after he retired. I think they all respect him for who he once was – he _is_ a living legend, after all – but there are quite a few that think he's become a bit of a joke, really. We're lucky most of them don't even know that he's been kept locked in his own trunk for months by a presumably dead undercover Death Eater. That's not funny," she said, giving Sirius and Lupin a very disapproving look. 

"Nobody laughed," Lupin replied innocently, suppressing a grin. 

"Mad-Eye Moody is a great old chap, but he _is_ a little paranoid," said Sirius. 

"You have a point there," Dumbledore conceded. "But all the same, I would urge you – all of us - to be rather a little too paranoid than too careless, in times like these."

"If you asked Alastor," McGonagall continued, "he'd probably tell you that none of the Aurors were trustworthy at all."

"As a matter of fact, I did ask him, Minerva," Dumbledore said with a little smile. "And unsurprisingly, that was precisely his answer. But I'm not inclined to give up on them so easily. We will see what Arthur Weasley can do, being so conveniently positioned in the same Ministry Department as them. Well, this is all very satisfying for a start," he said, leaning back comfortably in his chair and looking around the table as if he was expecting them all to agree whole-heartedly. He smiled at the rather sceptical looks on their faces. "It seems best to me that we should soon have everyone gathered in this place for a first meeting, and see where we can go from there. I suggest next Saturday night, that should give everyone sufficient time to think it over, and prepare."

"Can we make it Friday?" Lupin asked. "Next Saturday's the full moon, and I'd like to be there."

"Friday it is then," Dumbledore agreed. "And until then, can I rely on the two of you to take care of the front door, find out how it was sealed, and replace the charm with something more practical but equally secure? There is no need to wake up old Mrs Black every time there is a visitor. I'll explain later," he said, noticing the unspoken question in Professor McGonagall's face. "Other than that, this place might occasionally have to house more than one person, so it would be a great help if you could make some of the bedrooms habitable."

Lupin glanced at Sirius, who had stirred uneasily at the words 'more than _one_ person'. "I'm staying anyway," he said quickly. "I might as well give up my own place and move in here completely, if Sirius agrees."

"Of course I do," said Sirius immediately, with audible relief in his voice.

"By all means stay here with Sirius for the time being, Remus," Dumbledore said. "But I would advise you not to give up your own place, not – " he raised a hand to ward off Lupin's protest – "not because the welfare housing the Ministry provides is such a desirable place to live, Remus. But we must take precautions. Keep your own place, only formally if you like, but keep it. You'd have to register a new place of residence with the Ministry otherwise, and questions would be asked. We must not arouse suspicion. We should all appear to be sticking to our quiet and respectable lives as much as possible."

"And what about those of us that don't _have_ a quiet and respectable life to stick to?" Sirius muttered under his breath. 

"There will be a time, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "Try to be patient. And now," he added, rising from his chair, "seeing as we are all fed and watered, it is time for Minerva and me to take our leave. But we have one more thing to do tonight, before we go. I must ask you all to come outside with me for a moment."

They followed Dumbledore out of the kitchen and up to the hall, Lupin and Sirius exchanging a curious look. At the front door, Dumbledore hesitated.

"Oh yes," said Sirius, and a moment later, a big black dog had taken his place at Lupin's side. 

Dumbledore opened the front door, and they filed out behind him, down the worn steps and onto the pavement outside the wrought-iron gate. The pale orange street lights flickered and went out one after another as Dumbledore pointed his put-outer at each of them in turn. Then he turned back towards the house, pocketed the put-outer and drew out his wand. Three pairs of eyes, two human and one gleaming yellow in the dark, watched from behind his back. 

Dumbledore's lips moved silently. A great sense of power suddenly seemed to radiate from his person. He seemed to grow several inches taller, and a light breeze ruffled his long white hair and beard and the sleeves of his purple robes, although there was no wind in the withered trees. None of the onlookers dared to breathe. When the incantation was finished, Dumbledore raised his left hand and said very quietly: "_Fidelius."_

Something very strange happened then. The house seemed to shrink before their eyes, getting smaller and smaller, while at the same time, the Muggle houses of numbers eleven and thirteen moved in from both sides, pushing number twelve down and out of sight until it was completely gone, making number eleven and number thirteen wall-to-wall neighbours, seamlessly connected, leaving no trace that another house had ever existed between them. 

Dumbledore lowered his wand and turned to his three companions. "Listen," he said, and they grouped around him to hear, putting their heads together to shield his words from any other ears that might be listening. 

"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore said in a low but very solemn voice, "may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

* * *

In the blink of an eye, Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall had Disapparated, and Lupin and Sirius were alone on the square. They turned back towards where the house had been, and instantly, it seemed to grow back out of the ground, pushing numbers eleven and thirteen out of the way to the left and right.

"Neat," said Lupin, and together they walked up the steps and re-entered number twelve as if nothing had happened. "Dumbledore never ceases to amaze me," he remarked when they were back inside, closing the door on the night.

"He wouldn't be Dumbledore if he ever did," Sirius said dryly, back to his human self again. 

"The Fidelius Charm looks hellishly complicated." Lupin shook his head, still in awe of what he'd just seen. "Why did he want us to come outside with him, though? Surely not just to witness the greatness of his power?"

"As if that needed any more witnessing. No, I think it's because this is a Fidelius on a building. Imagine what it would have felt like to be in the house while it was shrinking. You'd suddenly find yourself unable to tell where you were. Terribly confusing. It could mess up your mind. Or, given a strong mind, it could mess up the spell."

Lupin suddenly grabbed Sirius's arm. "Kreacher!" he said in an urgent voice. 

"What about him?"

"He was inside all the time!"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't care about _his_ mind." 

"No, but what if the spell didn't work?"

"You saw the house shrink and grow back, didn't you?" Sirius reminded him. "It worked brilliantly. And besides, I'm not sure the Fidelius has an effect on other creatures than humans."

But Lupin was only more unnerved by this new information. "But then he could tell on us!" he exclaimed.

"Maybe he could. If he could leave the house, that is."

Lupin relaxed a little, and then frowned again. "Which means – "

" – he's staying," Sirius concluded, and swore. 

"Dumbledore must have been aware of that," Lupin said quietly. 

"I bet you anything that he was," Sirius grumbled. "Fine for him. It's not him that has to live under the same roof as that foul, insolent, ungrateful creature." And he stomped off towards the staircase.

"Where are you going?" Lupin called after him.

"As far away from that stinking thing as possible, without leaving the house. I'm going to sleep in the study. Good night."

"And I suppose I have your permission to bugger off home?" Lupin asked, folding his arms and leaning against the inside of the front door. 

"Do what you want," Sirius grunted, and continued up the stairs without looking back. 

"I will," said Lupin in a firm voice. "I'm not sure _I _want to live under the same roof with _two_ insolent, ungrateful creatures."

Sirius turned around sharply, his dark eyes flashing angrily. "Then why are you still here?" he sneered.

"Because only half an hour ago, it seemed to matter a terrible lot to you that I'd be," Lupin shot back. 

"Listen," Sirius said in a dangerously low voice, taking a few steps back towards Lupin, "in case you haven't _noticed_, Remus, I'm not a _child_. I can look after myself!" 

"But it doesn't look like you're making a good job of it." 

"Maybe you didn't look properly?" Sirius's voice was growing steadily louder. 

"I _think_ – "

"I don't _care _what you think!" Sirius was shouting now.

"Sirius," Lupin said in a voice of forced calm, "my hearing is excellent. It's actually particularly keen at the moment, with the full moon approaching. So don't – shout – at - me."__

"I'm not shouting!" Sirius bellowed. 

"Of course you are!" Lupin yelled back, his own anger finally getting the better of him. "If you could just hear yourself, you'd – "

But the rest of his words were, inevitably, lost in the renewed ear-splitting shrieks from the portrait of Mrs Black. "DISGRACE OF THE FAMILY! TRAITOR TO YOUR OWN BLOOD! SCUM OF WIZARDKIND!" echoed up and down the hall, drowning all other noise. 

Lupin flinched as if someone had slapped him across the face. He shot one last disgusted look at Sirius, and then without another word turned on his heel and slammed the front door shut behind him. 

Sirius stood staring after his friend for a moment. Then, slowly, he sank down on the stairs and buried his face in his hands, no longer heeding, or even hearing, the continuing insults his mother was shouting into the empty hall. They seemed far away and very trivial compared to the howl of misery that he felt welling up inside himself. It grew louder and louder, and then it broke through the surface of his mind, hitting him with full force, ringing in his ears, shaking him violently from head to foot, its hollow echoes seeming to mock the emptiness within him. 

Sirius cried like a child.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

Later that night – Sirius couldn't tell whether he had slept or not – he finally dragged himself to his feet and stumbled up the remaining stairs to the second landing. The house was very quiet now. Sirius dropped on the dusty old sofa in his father's study, not bothering to even take his shoes off, and lay staring at the dark wooden ceiling for a long while, until sheer exhaustion finally let him close his burning eyes and carried him off to sleep. 

But sleep brought no relief. 

Sirius dreamed. He dreamed he was back in a dark prison cell, watching rats crawling around his feet, sniffing at him and squeaking in high voices. He kicked at them with his foot, and one of the rats - Sirius noticed it had a toe of its front paw missing – sat up on its hind legs and squealed, "Under no circumstances is Sirius to leave the house!" He lashed out at it with his hand, but the rat was quicker, dancing out of reach… "_Fidelius_," said a deep, solemn voice, and the rat gave Sirius a wicked toothy grin and slipped out between the bars of his cell. He had to catch it! He knew he had to catch it before it was too late, and he lunged forward – but there was a blinding flash of green light, the force of a great explosion threw him backwards into the wall, and there was a high, cackling laughter in the air, a mad laughter of triumph. "You killed them!" the voice cackled. "It was your doing!" "No!" Sirius wanted to shout, but all that came out of his mouth was a rattling, rasping breath, and he felt cold, cold as if his insides were turning to ice… he couldn't move, he was paralysed… then he was suddenly seized by a dozen hands at once. He was saved - no, not saved, but caught! Faceless shadows were grabbing his arms, pushing him around, all the time shouting in shrill voices, "Disgrace of the Order! Traitor to your own friends!" Someone hit him hard in the back between his shoulders, and he fell, he was falling into a pitch dark bottomless abyss, into a void where there was no light and no sound, no beginning and no end, falling, falling… 

Sirius woke with a start. He sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, breathing very fast and looking wildly around the unfamiliar and yet familiar room, slowly remembering where he was and why he was here. 

If dreaming was painful, waking was even more so. The darkness was gone – there was daylight behind the dusty curtains – but the voices where still echoing shrilly in his throbbing head. 

For a long time, he didn't move. Then he put his head between hands, closed his eyes, and concentrated very hard. A moment later, a large black dog had taken his place on the sofa, its shaggy head resting on its paws, lying very still. 

* * *

It grew dark outside, and light again, before the dog moved again at all. Finally, it opened its eyes, blinked a few times, and transformed back into Sirius's human self. He got up from the sofa with a sigh, swaying so heavily he had to catch himself on the edge of the heavy oak desk. He stood there for a moment to make sure his legs would carry him, and then driven by hunger and thirst, he left the room to make his way downstairs to the kitchen. 

"Good morning," a friendly voice greeted him when he arrived in the hall. Sirius blinked. Just inside the front door, Remus Lupin was sitting cross-legged on the frayed carpet, with his back to the stairs and the sleeves of his robes rolled up, poking at the heavy mechanism of the lock and bolt with his wand. 

"I saw you were still asleep when I arrived earlier this morning, and I didn't want to wake you up," said Lupin, and turned around. The smile faded from his face. "Good heavens. You look terrible."

Sirius checked his reflection in the cracked wardrobe mirror next to the door, and had to admit that Lupin was right. His face, very pale under the dark stubble of three days without shaving, looked back at him out of swollen red eyes in deep dark hollows, half hidden behind the tangles of his unkempt hair. 

"Are you ill?" Lupin asked. 

"No," Sirius said, his hoarse voice almost failing him. "Only – only dreams." He turned to find his friend looking at him with a very concerned expression. "It's nothing, really," he lied. 

Lupin raised an eyebrow. 

"Look, I'm sorry about last night," Sirius said very quickly. "I was – I don't know, I was just – I didn't want to shout – I mean I did, but – " He shrugged helplessly.

"That's all right, Padfoot, old friend," Lupin said lightly, and the smile was back on his face. "It was very late, and we're all under a bit of strain at the moment. Never mind. And for your information, it's the night _before_ last you're talking about. It's Wednesday today. Around ten in the morning. And there's still some breakfast left down in the kitchen." He gestured towards a chipped mug of tea, placed conveniently on top of a very battered old suitcase next to the door.  "And there's tea today, too. Only tea bags, I'm afraid, but tea nonetheless."

"Are you staying then?" Sirius asked, referring to the suitcase rather than to the mug on top if it. 

"If you ask me nicely," Lupin said with a grin. 

* * *

"What exactly are you doing there?" Sirius asked when he came back from the kitchen with a mug of his own in one hand and a piece of toast with strawberry jam in the other, and found Lupin still sitting by the front door. 

 "I'm working on the lock, obviously," Lupin replied, "since Dumbledore asked us to do that first. Once more people learn about this place, we shouldn't just leave the door unlocked."

Sirius realised with a pang of guilt that there _had_ been work to do for the Order, useful work, urgent work even. Work that he had neglected, preferring to stare at the ceiling and wallow in feelings of futility and despair.

"But I haven't got very far," Lupin admitted, interrupting his friend's thoughts. "I've always been useless with technical stuff, really. I think the door was password-protected anyway. We might as well start guessing."

"I think it was a family thing," Sirius said. "Anyone in the family was easily able to unlock the door with just a tap of their wands. All the others had to ring the bell."

"Then why didn't you get us in in the first place?" 

"Make that 'family' in my mother's definition, Remus," Sirius said with a wry grin. "I've never been able to get back in just like that, once I'd moved out."

"I wonder," said Lupin thoughtfully, "if we could teach the door to think of us, of the Order I mean, as the family? So it would open to us, and to us only?"

"Knowing the Blacks, it's probably a blood thing. Like, the door looks inside you and only opens if you're a Black, or at least a pure-blood."

"How did they seal the door to you then?"

"Oh. Right." Sirius frowned. "Same with my cousin Andromeda, by the way. She's a Black, too, but she married a Muggle-born, and had to ring the doorbell ever since. Not that she called very often, if she could help it. Very decent person, my cousin Andromeda."

"Everyone else had to use the bell?" Lupin mused. "Did anybody ever use the knocker?"

"Not that I recall," Sirius shrugged. "It's probably just a piece of decoration." 

"Maybe." Lupin ran his hand over the cracked paint on the inside of the door. "Look, this must be the other side of the knocker – it's actually a serpent, too." He pointed at the metal plaque in the centre of the door. It was engraved with the picture of a snake, its raised head facing to the left. 

"Don't tell me you're surprised about that," Sirius grunted. "Regulus used to have fun counting all the snakes in the house. It was a different number every time, but it was always more than fifty."

"What does a door knocker need this plaque on the inside for?" Lupin wondered. "It wouldn't even sound properly that way." He tapped the picture of the snake softly with his wand. "Hello, Snake. I was wondering if you have anything to do with the sealing mechanism of the door, you know."

"I never knew you were a Parselmouth, Remus," Sirius said in an amused tone and took another bite of his toast. 

"I'm not. Just thinking aloud." Lupin turned back to the snake. "Suppose we asked you to open the door to someone, would you do it, Snake? Let's say, Sirius Black?"

Sirius snorted impatiently, but just then something very odd happened. The snake on the plaque gave a quick but unmistakeable nod.

"Did you see that?" Lupin exclaimed excitedly. "It heard me! It understood! I bet this is how it works. Let's try again – what about Remus Lupin?" 

There was another nod. 

"At least the snake doesn't care whether you're a Black or not," Sirius said, trying to hide his surprise behind a grin. "Go again. Albus Dumbledore?"

The snake showed no reaction. 

Sirius sighed. "Maybe it doesn't like me."

"Maybe it doesn't like Albus Dumbledore. Or maybe you can only have two names at a time." 

"Or you have to be there when the name is said," Sirius suggested. "At least be in the house or something. Like the Fidelius, only the other way round."

"Quite likely so," Lupin agreed. "We'll try again once he's here himself. Now let's find out whether it's working for us. I'll just go outside, you lock and bolt the door behind me, and I'll try to get back in."

They did as Lupin had suggested. Sirius secured the door behind his friend, but it only took a tap of Lupin's wand to make the lock click open and the bolt slide back as if controlled by invisible hands. 

"It's _working_." Lupin looked very satisfied when they came face to face again. "Try again."

There was a minute of silence this time, then Lupin was hammering on the door with his fist. Sirius quickly opened to him.

"The knocker on the outside is the reverse mechanism," Lupin reported excitedly, rubbing his hand. "I said my name to it, the knocker nodded, and I couldn't get back in. Then I said your name, but it didn't move. I suppose that's because you were still inside. So simple, and so brilliant." 

"No, _you're _brilliant, Remus. Just how many wizards would start talking to a snake although they knew they couldn't?" 

Lupin blushed slightly. "I'd better put my things away somewhere upstairs, now that we're done here," he said, wiping his oily hands on his robes. "And then we can see about the less academically challenging part of our preparations for Friday."

"Cleaning," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "Come on, then. I'll take your stuff. You choose your bedroom. They're all free and none of them is haunted, at least as far as I know."

"I'd best have one with a heavy bolt on the inside of the door," Lupin said practically. "Just in case I get into a bit of a haunting mood myself, at the full moon."

"Best have my father's then," said Sirius. "It's right next to the study. _Locomotor_suitcase."__


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Sirius read off the letters stencilled on the battered suitcase floating in front of him as they were climbing the stairs. "Sounds quite impressive, I must say."

"Pity it didn't last," Lupin said with a sad smile. "Although to be fair, I was luckier than both the professor before me and the one after me in the job. Unlike them, I at least _have_ a handful of memories of my year of teaching at Hogwarts. And very fond ones, too." 

"Getting to teach Harry for a whole year," Sirius grumbled, "while I was hiding in the Forbidden Forest, living off rats and never catching the one I was really after. I'm still jealous. Speaking of Harry," he continued in more cheerful tone, "I've got to find an owl soon to write to him."

"Oh, I just talked to Dumbledore about that this morning," Lupin said. 

Sirius glanced at him sideways and frowned. "Talked to Dumbledore about me sending Harry an owl?" 

"No, not that," Lupin hastened to explain. "Just owls in general. He told me he'd prefer not to have too many of them fluttering around Grimmauld Place though, in order not to attract too much attention."

Sirius looked unhappy. 

"But it doesn't mean that – of course you can always go and - I mean you can always give your letter to someone else to post so – "

"Was he here this morning? Dumbledore, I mean?" Sirius interrupted his friend, again ashamed at the thought that while he'd been hiding upstairs pitying himself, his friends had been busy rebuilding the Order. He wondered what else he might have missed. 

"He's still at Hogwarts," Lupin answered his question. "He'll be here on Friday evening."

"Then how did you talk?"

"Oh, that," Lupin said lightly. "Floo powder, of course."

Sirius stopped dead, completely taken aback. "Floo powder?" he asked incredulously. "But this house has never been connected to the Floo Network!"

"The kitchen fireplace is. Didn't you see the powder pot on the mantelpiece? Mind you, it's not a transporting connection. I tried that from my own home, and I couldn't get in. It's just a communicating one. But one that works as well as any of them. Don't worry," he said, catching the alarmed look on Sirius's face. "Nobody who isn't in on the Fidelius would be able to use it anyway."

"But the Floo Network is watched by the Ministry!"

"Not very closely," Lupin shrugged. "It's true, they can register when a certain place is used, or when a certain person is transported –"

"I know I can't travel by it," Sirius interrupted him impatiently.

"- but they can't police the whole thing all the time," Lupin concluded.

"It's no use to me anyway," Sirius said resignedly. "They never connect Muggle fireplaces." 

"Except for special occasions. Arthur Weasley's got a hilarious story to tell about that. Speaking of the Weasleys – thanks, Sirius." 

They had arrived on the second landing, and Sirius had pushed open the door to the bedroom assigned to his friend. Lupin took his suitcase and put it down on the bed inside, ignoring the cloud of dust that rose from it. 

"The Weasleys will be here on Friday morning to give us a bit of a hand with the house, and get ready for the meeting. At least Mrs Weasley definitely will."

Sirius smiled. Molly Weasley was after all one of the very few witches and wizards who knew the truth about him. And once convinced by both Dumbledore and her son Ron that Sirius was not who he had appeared to be for so long, she had offered her help and support so eagerly that Sirius couldn't help suspecting that she was trying to make up a little for housing and feeding that rat of a traitor for twelve years – the traitor for whose crime Sirius had spend those same years in imprisonment in Azkaban. 

"That's really nice of her," Sirius said, and meant it.

* * *

The rest of the day was indeed spent with the kind of work that Lupin had called 'less academically challenging'. Sirius soon found this a blatant euphemism.

"I'd never have thought I'd be teaching you _household_ charms one day," Lupin said to Sirius while they were carrying several arms full of bedclothes and sheets down to the kitchen for washing. "But then, the day had to come when we'd both settle down and be domesticated."

Sirius only snorted in reply, careful not to trip over his own feet, which he couldn't see. He had had to admit that he was nearly useless when it came to simple magical cleaning and washing techniques. Lupin, from long practice of living on his own, was quite adept at them. 

Down in the kitchen, Kreacher the house-elf was busy, or had at least started pretending to be busy as soon as he heard their footsteps approaching. He stood on a chair bent over a large washtub full of steaming hot, bubbling water, washing out the bed linen they had brought down earlier. He was muttering to himself, and now and again he affectionately ran his long spindly fingers over the Black family crest that was embroidered on each of the sheets. 

It was very warm in the room. They hung the washing on a makeshift line to dry next to the fire, and the steaming wet cloth made the kitchen feel like a green house. Sirius and Lupin were glad to escape it again, even if it meant returning upstairs to the unpleasant task of cleaning and clearing out dank and dusty rooms. Thankfully, at least Phineas Nigellus didn't show up in his portrait to accompany their work with his snide remarks. 

The large drawing room on the first floor proved the worst of all. Not only was it stuffed full with heavy furniture and many other items that matched the forbidding serpent decorations of the hall with disturbing exactness; its front window curtains also housed a whole colony of doxies, nasty airborne creatures that dealt out very painful bites if not killed or stunned instantly. 

They had just decided to give up on that room at least for the day, when the doorbell announced a new arrival. Sirius offered to take care of Mrs Black, remembering the pain the noise caused Lupin's sensitive ears at this time of the month. When he had closed the curtains with some effort, he went to open the door and found Mundungus Fletcher on the doorstep, grinning and apparently alone. 

"'Afternoon," Mundungus said. "I've brought you someone you migh' be happy to see." He entered, and the air behind him suddenly sprang to life, and something large, discernible only by its movement and the clatter of hooves on the stone steps, walked into the house behind him.

"Buckbeak!" Sirius exclaimed, and Mundungus grinned even more. 

"Tha's right," he said, giving the air behind him a tap with his wand – and the head of a giant eagle appeared out of nowhere, then a neck and a body, which was that of a horse, and finally the taloned legs and swishing tail.

"Dumbledore thought you migh' like to have 'im aroun'," Mundungus explained, "so I brought 'im 'ere. An' to tell you the truth, Mad-Eye Moody wasn' too sad to have the beast outta his backyard, either. Kept complainin' he didn' have the time to look after a beast too proud to even let 'im touch it."

But Sirius was hardly listening, patting the Hippogriff's shiny neck and stroking its steel-coloured beak. "I've missed you, you know, Beaky," he said. "It won't be long now, and the two of us will be up in the air and travelling again, I promise. We'll fly all over Britain, over the mountains and over the sea… visit Harry…" The Hippogriff rubbed its imposing forehead against Sirius's shoulder, almost knocking him over in the process, but Sirius only laughed. "And in the meantime, until we're free again, you'll be getting the biggest bedroom in the whole house, with enough room to stretch and flap your wings so you won't forget how to fly."

Lupin, who had been watching the scene from the stairs, smiled at the pair of them that had seen so much and travelled so far together. He came down to the hall and bowed to the Hippogriff, which immediately inclined its head in return, allowing Lupin to touch it. 

"Hello, Buckbeak," he said, stroking the shiny feathers of its head, "Nice to meet you at last. Well, I'll leave you two to your reunion. I might as well nip over to St. Mungo's and Diagon Alley now and do my shopping. Anything you need?" 

Sirius shook his head absent-mindedly, and so did Mundungus, although the question hadn't been directed at him. 

"I'll see you around then," Lupin said, took his shabby coat from the stand next to the door, and left. 

"I hope Mad-Eye Moody treated you properly," Sirius said to Buckbeak.

"He said there'd been no trouble," Mundungus reported, "but he still couldn' be rid of the beast fast enough. An' mind you, this one's a bit difficult, really. Wouldn' let me touch it until I'd explained that I was goin' to take it straigh' to you, Sirius. After tha', it couldn' go fast enough. Had to hang onto its neck for dear life on the way 'ere."

"That's my Buckbeak," Sirius said happily. "Now, come on upstairs, I'll take you to your new home."

"Eh, Sirius," Mundungus, not liking being forgotten, called after him as Sirius began coaxing the Hippogriff into following him up the narrow staircase. "It's been a long way. Have you stocked up on that butterbeer down in the kitchen?"

* * *

When Lupin returned in the evening with his shopping – several bags and a small covered cauldron – there was an almost cheerful atmosphere in the kitchen.

Mundungus Fletcher and Kreacher were taking down the washing from the line, folding up the bed sheets between them in perfect harmony – a harmony that was, on closer inspection, based solely on the fact that Mundungus was turning a completely deaf ear to Kreacher's muttering. Sirius was chopping meat and vegetables into a pot for a stew. Both wizards had a bottle of butterbeer standing somewhere within reach, and Lupin heard them talking together very amicably even before he opened the door.

"There you are," Sirius greeted his friend. He looked a completely different man compared to the morning. He'd shaved and washed his hair and was practically beaming at Lupin across the room. "Mundungus is giving me a run-down on fourteen years worth of news and gossip about British wizarddom," he said as Lupin put his shopping down on the table. "It's amazing how much I've missed. And I can't believe Emmeline Vance and Elphias Doge are still pretending to be no more than friends. How did things go for you?"

"Fine," Lupin said, producing several small black bottles from his bags. "Doxycide," he explained. "I'm afraid the drawing room is a case for some drastic measures. And Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover – lots of it. Maybe we can make Kreacher remember how to use it."

"Use it to poison our food, I bet," Sirius said, but he didn't bother to give Kreacher one of his dark stares, or even to sound particularly threatening. 

"I went to Gringotts first," Lupin continued, "to collect my cheque. I met Bill Weasley in the hall there. I almost didn't recognise him, in his smart Gringotts robes and tie and all. Not that he looked very comfortable in it. He's actually got himself a desk job here in London, 'to be closer to the family', he told me with an enormous wink. 'I'll be seeing them all on Friday,' he said. So he's coming, too."

"He's a great chap, Bill Weasley," said Sirius appreciatively. "I'm glad he's joining us. Wish we had more like him."

"Wan' a butterbeer?" Mundungus asked Lupin across the room.

"Erm, no thanks. Maybe later. I'll have to find a safe place to store this cauldron first. I don't want anyone to knock it over or throw it out and have to deal with the consequences. And it's time I had some of the stuff, too."

Lupin took off the lid and placed the cauldron on the stove, heating the potion within until the surface was bubbling. He then ladled some of it into a mug, took a sip, and gulped it down with a visible effort. "It is and remains disgusting," he said, pulling a face. "Especially this mass produced re-heatable stuff from St. Mungo's. Snape's was so much better."

Sirius, who had gone back to his stew, now pulled a face in his turn at the name Lupin had mentioned. "I still marvel that you'd ever even touch any of _that_ one's brews," he said. 

"Excuse me," said Lupin irritably, "Snape happens to make by far the best Wolfsbane Potion to be had in the whole country, so maybe you'll forgive me for finding it comparatively easy to overlook the fact that it's _him _making it_."_

Sirius snorted. 

"The big difference between his stuff and this," Lupin continued, "is that Snape's leaves me with a perfectly clear mind, while this one makes me all hazy and drowsy. Either they can't do it any better at St. Mungo's, or it's the painkilling ingredients they put in there."

"Which Snape _accidentally_ forgot to put into his?" Sirius said aggressively. "The bastard."

"He did_ not_ forget," Lupin defended his one time colleague. "He warned me that it would have to be either or, and asked me what I'd prefer – the painkillers or a completely clear mind – and I said I'd rather be able to think straight, and I told him that I knew thinking and feeling belonged together. He didn't seem particularly amused at _that_ comment, but he's made a Wolfsbane for me, month after month, that most werewolves in Britain can only dream of."

"You _dream_ of this stuff?" Mundungus asked disbelievingly, gesturing at the still steaming cauldron that gave off a rather unpleasant smell. 

"Anyway," Lupin concluded, replacing the lid, "I'm going to ask him if he's got the time to make it for me again, when he comes here on Friday."

Sirius looked up sharply. "You think he will be here?"

"_All _the Order will be here, Sirius," Lupin said impatiently. "And not for the last time, either. You might as well try and get used to the idea." 

"You don't like him any more than I do."

"That's right," Lupin agreed. "But I also hate him a lot less than you do."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Much as Sirius had feared the lonely days in the empty house, they seemed to pass very quickly, and the day of the first meeting of the new Order of the Phoenix arrived in no time at all. While Remus Lupin seemed to look forward to it, Sirius dreaded it the more the closer they got to Friday evening. There would be so much for Dumbledore to explain – about the house at any rate, and he couldn't talk about the house without talking about its owner. The true story was so far only known to the few that had already been to the house, and the Weasleys. How could he be sure that all the others would willingly accept his own and Dumbledore's word for it, with no further proof that it _was _true? 

He was wrong though. There _was_ proof – there were witnesses to Pettigrew's discovery and escape, Lupin for one, and Harry, Ron and Hermione, of course. That's right, Sirius thought bitterly, a werewolf, and three schoolchildren. How could he hope that the others would accept what even the Minister for Magic so steadfastly refused to believe? But then, Sirius reminded himself, the Minister for Magic was a twit who was too thick, or too much of a coward, to see the blatant truth of Voldemort's return, too. 

At least those that had known him in the old Order would believe him, he tried to convince himself. But would they? _They find it so hard to let go of their own comfortable truths_, Minerva McGonagall had said. They had been thinking him a traitor to their cause, a servant of the Dark Lord, the murderer of Lily and James Potter, for fourteen years. They had rejoiced when he was sent to Azkaban, despising him and hating him, and mourning Peter Pettigrew, poor, brave, foolish Peter Pettigrew…

They _would_ hear the truth about this, and soon. 

* * *

On Thursday evening, a letter arrived from Dumbledore, delivered by an owl that suddenly shot out of the kitchen fireplace, shrieking wildly and flapping its wings, the tips of its feathers slightly singed. Lupin jumped up from the long table where he and Sirius were having dinner, caught the confused bird and gently sat it down between them. The letter itself – it was addressed to both of them – did not do much to brighten Sirius's spirits. It merely asked him in very cryptic terms to take care not to show himself to the assembled Order in his usual form until an explanation about him and the house had been provided. But there was also a P.S. that read _"There is no need to reply to this letter". _

"Great," said Sirius, "this owl's going straight on to Little Whinging then."

"Remember Dumbledore said the less owl post fluttering around the house, the better," Lupin reminded him.

"Nonsense," Sirius said, determined to seize on the chance when it offered. "The owl will want to flutter out again anyway. It makes no difference whether it does it with or without a letter tied to its leg. And I haven't written to Harry since we left your place."

Lupin shrugged. "Do be careful then."

"I will." Sirius folded Dumbledore's letter and tore off the blank lower half of the parchment.

"_Dear Harry,_" he scribbled onto it, "_I hope you're fine. I'm OK. Beaky is back with me now, which is great. If you want to do something for me tomorrow, keep your fingers crossed that people will like my own story better than the one they're used to hearing. Take care of yourself, and try not to get into trouble with the Muggles, or anyone else. Write when anything's wrong. Snuffles. P.S. Moony says to say hello_."

"Oh, this is pointless," he said in frustration, looking over what he'd written. "I might as well send a blank piece of parchment for all it's saying, or rather not saying."

"Well, there's no blank piece of parchment left now," Lupin said, reading the letter over his friend's shoulder. "And besides, it says hello from me. If you don't consider that a sufficient reason to send it, I do."

"Poor Harry," Sirius said, rolling up the parchment and tying it to the owl's leg. "At least _I _get my questions answered when I ask what's going on outside."

* * *__

Friday morning finally came, and with it Mrs Weasley. She was in her Muggle best when Sirius opened the door to her, wearing a hand-knitted woollen jumper with a floral pattern, a tweed skirt and a crocheted cap in a shade of purple that clashed violently with her flaming red hair.

"Good morning," she said brightly, smiling up at Sirius. "Oh, you look so much healthier than last time we met." 

For a second, Sirius wasn't sure whether she was being ironic, but her smile was warm and genuine. "Well, I'm not living in a mountain cave any more," he said with an awkward grin. "Come in, please. It's great you could come, Mrs Weasley."

"Oh please," Mrs Weasley said, entering. "Let's not be so complicated. It's Molly. And it's no problem at all, the children can look after themselves for a day, and as long as the house is not in ruins when we get back – oh dear." She broke off, looking around the gloomy hall with wide eyes, taking in the serpents, the cobwebs and the sweet, heavy air of decay that hung about the whole place. "Oh dear," she repeated, this time in a whisper. She turned to Sirius again, who was looking back at her very unhappily. 

"Before you ask," he said hoarsely, "yes, I'd rather be back in the mountain cave."

And Mrs Weasley, without a word, opened her short arms, just like she would open them to one of her own children when they were in need of comfort, and pulled Sirius into a tight hug.

And then, she took charge. Sirius and Lupin were glad to leave it to her to call the tune in what she referred to as 'making the house fit for human habitation'. Lupin did ask her what else she thought had been going on in it over the last week if _not_ human habitation, but she only gave him a disapproving look and muttered something that sounded very much like "Bachelors!", and that settled the matter.

Within a quarter of an hour, the kitchen had literally sprung to life. A mop was sweeping the stone floor of its own accord, while a brush was scrubbing the surface of the long table clean. All the dusty plates and glasses from the sideboard were washing themselves in the sink. The cupboards stood all open, and Mrs Weasley was sorting broken pots and pans and bowls from still usable ones with her wand, making the broken things jump straight into the bin. Kreacher, who was eyeing the goings-on extremely suspiciously, finally tried to sneak off unnoticed to a quieter place, slipped on the wet floor, and ran cursing from the room.

Mundungus Fletcher turned up after lunch, yawning hugely and apparently hoping for another free meal. He had to content himself with some sandwiches that the others had left over, but he was quite happy to find that there was also some butterbeer left. Mrs Weasley frowned at the concept of butterbeer as early in the day as lunchtime, but she didn't protest. She took her revenge, however, by making Mundungus realise very quickly that there was not one quiet corner to be found in the kitchen on that day. She kept asking him to move his chair because he was sitting in her way, until he finally got up, grumbling, and announced that he was going upstairs to sleep off the effects of his nightshift. 

"Nightshift," Mrs Weasley snorted when he was gone. "As if I didn't know it was Arthur down in Surrey last night. Nightshift in the Leaky Cauldron, this one." 

Time was flying. Late in the afternoon, Sirius went upstairs with a basket full of dead rats for Buckbeak. He stayed with the Hippogriff for a while, sitting on the window sill and watching Buckbeak tearing apart the rats at his feet.

"You're a lucky fellow, you know," he told the Hippogriff. "You can have your Disillusionment Charm reversed with just a tap of a wand, painless, leaving no traces. That's not how it works with humans, you know. Once disillusioned, there's no going back.  Maybe that's why humans don't like being disillusioned. They don't like it at all. It hurts too much, and leaves too many scars."

He looked out of the window onto the square. It was deserted as always, except for a solitary man with thick fair hair on the pavement opposite, looking rather uneasy and forlorn, obviously waiting for someone. Sirius sighed. 

"Let's hope _they_ take their disillusionment well tonight," he said to Buckbeak, sliding down from his seat and patting the Hippogriff's neck. "They find it so hard to let go of their own comfortable truths, you know. I've got to go."

When he came back down to the kitchen, everything was ready. The long table had been moved back to the wall opposite the fireplace, and Mrs Weasley and Lupin had transported more chairs from upstairs into the room. Mrs Weasley was regarding the result of her work with her hands on her hips and a look of satisfaction on her face. 

"Well, that's it then," she said. "Let them come."

And as if in answer to that, the doorbell rang for the first time. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

And it kept ringing almost incessantly for the next half hour, accompanied equally incessantly by shrieks from Mrs Black's portrait. Mrs Weasley and Remus Lupin took their station in the hall, opened the door to the witches and wizards that arrived, gave hasty explanations in hushed voices and ushered them down to the kitchen. Every time the bell went off, Mrs Black renewed her abusive shrieks with full force, showering every new arrival with fresh insults. It was pandemonium. 

Down in the kitchen, Sirius, sitting on one of the chairs in the form of the black dog, watched the room fill with the witches and wizards that had come in answer to Dumbledore's call. Some of them came alone, some of them in twos and threes. Some of them greeted each other with the familiarity of old friends; some acknowledged each other more formally. 

There were many familiar faces among them, some almost unchanged since Sirius had last seen them more than a decade ago, while others had aged visibly. There were new faces, too – there was a witch not much past thirty, with frizzy black hair and rather rosy cheeks, who looked around a little shyly, but jumped up eagerly to greet Minerva McGonagall when she entered. Sirius shifted uneasily at the sight of the wizard that had arrived in Professor McGonagall's company. Severus Snape, in his usual black, greeted no one, gave the black dog a short and perfectly indifferent look, and chose a place for himself in the corner next to the fireplace, leaving the two chairs in front of him to be occupied by Professor McGonagall and the young witch who had to be Hestia Jones. 

Among the other newcomers was a tall black wizard, bald and with a trimmed beard. He looked about himself with mild curiosity as he stationed himself at the back of the room, leaning against the long table that had been pushed back against the wall. Next to him, sitting casually on the table top dangling her legs, was another witch, even younger than Hestia Jones. She wore Muggle jeans and a red and green Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. Her hair was short and spiky, dark at the roots but bleached almost white at the tips. 

Sturgis Podmore, whom Sirius had seen from the upstairs window, had arrived with old Dedalus Diggle, smiling nervously while Diggle was beaming at everyone and shaking hands all around. Emmeline Vance and Elphias Doge arrived separately, but within very short time of each other, both still imposingly tall but even thinner and bonier than Sirius remembered them. 

None of those that arrived asked any questions about the big dog. Many of them eyed it rather suspiciously, but no one dared to approach it. Not that that would have been any better if he had been in his human form, Sirius thought bitterly. 

Only Bill Weasley, who was still in his Gringotts robes but had got rid of his tie, gave the dog a wink and an encouraging grin when he entered with his father.

Among the last to take their places was Mundungus Fletcher, although he had had the shortest way from upstairs. He had the distinct look of someone just roused from sleep about him, and settled in a corner pulling his shabby coat about him as if he intended to go straight back to sleep. 

The room was crowded by now. There weren't even enough chairs for everyone. A subdued but excited murmur was on the air. 

Finally, both the ringing of the bell and Mrs Black's shrieks ceased in the hall overhead, and Mrs Weasley and Lupin came back down to the kitchen, followed by the last arrivals, Alastor Moody, who stationed himself next to the door like a sentry, and Albus Dumbledore himself. 

Perched on Dumbledore's shoulder was a magnificent bird, larger than a swan, its feathers, gold and crimson, gleaming in the fire light. It sat very still, its black beady eyes unblinking as Dumbledore faced the assembled witches and wizards. He waited for their whispers to die down and for Mrs Weasley and Lupin to take their seats, Mrs Weasley next to her husband and Lupin next to the black dog. Then he smiled and opened his arms in a gesture of welcome. 

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to all of you." He looked around the room at their anxious and expectant faces. "Tonight, we have much to discuss, so allow me to come straight to the point. I need ask none of you why you have come here. You are all here because you believe, or at least consider it possible, that the wizard who styles himself Lord Voldemort has returned." The smile faded from his ancient face. "Well, he has. With the help of his servants, he has returned to a full bodily form." 

A murmur went around the room. It was not the first time that any of those present had heard of this, but there were few that had heard it stated with such calm certainty before, and even fewer that did not start at the name Dumbledore had spoken so evenly. This did not escape him. 

"And although I still see some of you flinch at his very name," he continued, "you would not be here if you didn't believe that if he is back, he must be stopped. We could not prevent his return to a body." A shadow passed over Dumbledore's ancient face again. "But we must not allow him to return to the power he once held. All of you, even if you were still children at the time, remember the reign of terror that preceded his downfall fourteen years ago. Those were dark times – possibly the darkest times the wizarding world has ever seen. We must not ever let this happen again. " 

There was a murmur of general consent. 

When Dumbledore continued, his voice was firm and full of confidence. "We must prevent it, and we will. This time, we are far better prepared to meet the threat. We have seen before what Voldemort is capable of, and willing to do. We have seen him rise to unimaginable power, through unimaginable ambition and ruthlessness. But we have also seen him fall."

"Not forever," Moody's gruff voice said from the door. 

"Not forever, Alastor," Dumbledore agreed. "The shadow has taken another shape and grown again. But if he is delayed again, and again, he may never return to power. And I have reason to believe that we are closer to this moment now than ever before, closer than we might dare to hope. And most importantly," he continued, "this time, we are warned. Voldemort had hoped to return in secrecy, to gather his powers and his supporters behind him, and then strike suddenly and unexpectedly. As matters now stand, he may still strike suddenly, but it will not be unexpected. Voldemort did not reckon with young Harry Potter to witness his rebirth and then survive and escape to tell the tale." 

There was another murmur from the assembled witches and wizards.

"Erm – " Elphias Doge cleared his throat. "I don't want to complicate matters, Albus," he said in his wheezy voice, "but your trust in the boy is absolute?"

Lupin felt the dog next to him shift uneasily, and for a moment he feared that Sirius might give away his disguise by baring his fangs at Doge, but the dog remained silent. 

"You are right to ask, Elphias," Dumbledore said patiently. "To answer your question: Yes, I do believe Harry absolutely. The signs have been there for us to read for years now. I know that Harry has no reason whatsoever to make up a story such as this. And as far as the recent events are concerned, Harry's word is not the only evidence we have. I myself have been to the site of Voldemort's rebirth, and I have seen the proof of what Harry has told me with my own eyes."

There was a gasp of surprise from his audience.

"You have _been_ there?" Emmeline Vance asked, her eyes wide with horror.

"I have," Dumbledore confirmed calmly. "I went there the morning after those events. I found the graveyard in the village where Voldemort's Muggle father used to live just as Harry had described it. It was deserted, of course, but the earth on the father's grave was trampled. There were the ashes of a fire big enough to heat a large cauldron. And there were the footsteps of more than a dozen people all over the place. It is impossible to read these signs in any other way than to confirm the story Harry has told me.

"We are gathered here tonight," Dumbledore continued after a moment's pause, "to plan how to prevent Voldemort's return to power. This is the great task that falls to us, and to us alone." For the third time, a shadow passed over his face. "For we cannot rely on any help from outside our own small circle. This time, it is not fear that paralyses the wizarding world and the authorities in it whose primary task it is to defend it and protect its welfare. But paralysed it is - by a different, equally dangerous cause: Denial. I informed the Minister for Magic of Voldemort's return minutes after I had heard of it myself - but Cornelius Fudge refused point-blank to believe one word of it. This has been the Ministry's official position ever since. The truth does not fit in with Fudge's view of him sitting comfortably in his office with no more problems on his hands than organizing a nice and peaceful Quidditch World Cup. You will not hear Voldemort's return mentioned in any official Ministry statement, and neither will you read about it in the _Daily Prophet_."

"The _Daily Prophet_ is useless!" Dedalus Diggle thundered with uncharacteristic vehemence.

"It's not only useless," Dumbledore said, "it's becoming dangerous. If you read the _Prophet_ carefully, you will find that the Ministry has done more than given them instructions to keep quiet about anything that might hint at Voldemort and his supporters being a very real danger to the wizarding world again. They're also trying to systematically discredit anyone who lends his or her voice to the truth." Dumbledore paused as if he was searching for the right words. "Unfortunately, this strategy is showing first signs of success," he continued, and his voice had lost some of its steadiness. "This morning, I was called to an urgent meeting of the Wizengamot at the Ministry. I was asked to resign from my position as Chief Warlock." 

More excited murmuring went around the room. 

  
"Why?" Minerva McGonagall asked sharply. 

"A mere formality. The Ministry has decided that since it was enlarged for the great trials fourteen years ago, the Wizengamot has become too big to be functional. So they're asking all those that have been members for more than twenty years to resign and enjoy their well deserved retirement."

"They're only keeping Fudge's lapdogs," Alastor Moody snorted.

"What did you say to them?" Minerva McGonagall inquired. 

"I refused, of course. And so I was voted out. By the vast majority of the members." 

Again, Dumbledore's audience gasped collectively. It was news to them all. 

"It will be in the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow, I suppose," Dumbledore continued evenly. "And of course they will take great care not to mention 'You Know Who' in this context. And there might be more of these obstacles coming. I received an owl last night from the International Confederation of Wizards. There will be an extraordinary meeting next weekend, which I have been asked to attend to 'explain my position.' That does not bode well. However, I will not believe that all hope is lost until they take me off the chocolate frog collecting cards, too." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses, but his little joke was only acknowledged by a handful of half-hearted smiles. 

"What are you planning to tell them?" McGonagall asked, her unsmiling expression making it clear that she was referring to the International Confederation of Wizards rather than the chocolate frog manufacturers. 

"Why, the truth of course," Dumbledore replied. "There are enough lies in the world already.

"It grieves me to say this," he went on after another little pause, "but the Minister's attitude forces us to act with extreme caution, and in extreme secrecy, not only towards those that we suspect or know to be supporters of Voldemort, but also towards the Ministry itself. Unlike in the days of the first war, the Ministry is still functioning, and functioning almost too well when it comes to sensing interference on my part. 

"We cannot rely on any official help or support," he concluded. "On the contrary, it is crucial that our activities remain, for the moment, secret from anyone outside our own circle. Of course, one of our aims must be to convince as many witches and wizards as possible of the truth about Voldemort's return. But do take care who you tell of this. You might find that there are some who are not to be trusted – among your own friends, too, and maybe even among your closest family." 

There was a distinct sob from Mrs Weasley, who had pressed her handkerchief to her face at Dumbledore's last words. Arthur Weasley patted his wife's arm in a gesture of helpless comfort. Bill Weasley, standing behind his parents, looked extremely unhappy. 

"I know how hard this is for some of you," Dumbledore said sympathetically. "But it is the only thing that I must ask of you all, regardless of what else you may decide to do or not to do after our meeting tonight – to act with extreme caution, and in extreme secrecy."

There was a heavy silence. Nothing that Dumbledore had said before had conveyed the same sense of urgency. Then one after the other, the witches and wizards in the room nodded in agreement. 

  
"So what _will _we do after this meeting?" the young witch with the spiky short hair spoke up for the first time. 

"We will complete the task the Order of the Phoenix took upon themselves many years ago," Dumbledore replied. He surveyed the young witch through his half-moon glasses and smiled at her. 

"The Order of the Phoenix?" she asked curiously. "Who were they?"

"The answer to that will take us back more than fifteen years," Dumbledore began as if he had only waited for this question. "During the years of the first war against Voldemort, a small group of people gathered in secret, just like we are gathered here today. They were only few – fewer than Voldemort's supporters and far fewer than the intimidated mass of witches and wizards that no longer knew what to do and whom to trust. They were few, but still they decided to take upon themselves the immense task of freeing the wizarding world from the evil that was penetrating it like a slowly working poison. They were fearless and determined – indeed, I am proud to say, they were the bravest witches and wizards that I have ever met in my entire long life." 

Again, he looked around the room. Emmeline Vance lowered her eyes, a slight blush colouring her high cheekbones. Dedalus Diggle was literally swelling with pride. 

"They were brave enough," Dumbledore continued, "to be ready to sacrifice their careers, their health and sanity, even their lives for the cause they believed in. And some of them did. Some of them gave and lost everything. 

"But they are all remembered," he went on in a warm voice, "remembered with respect, with honour, and with love. Marlene McKinnon. Dorcas Meadowes. Benjamin Fenwick. Edgar Bones. Caradoc Dearborn. Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Lily and James Potter. Frank and Alice Longbottom." 

A silence fell. More than one pair of eyes glistened with tears as Dumbledore recalled the names of Voldemort's victims. Remus Lupin shifted in his seat and wondered if he was the only one, probably apart from Sirius, who had noticed the conspicuous absence of one particular name from this roll of honour.

"Their memory is sacred to us," Dumbledore continued solemnly, raising his voice to carry clearly across the room. "It is not only for their sake, but for the sake of every living witch and wizard, and their children and grandchildren, that we, the survivors, must and will again take up the fight against the evil that we had hoped to have defeated fourteen years ago. Voldemort has returned. But so have those who will never rest until he is destroyed forever. Like a phoenix from the ashes, the Order of the Phoenix is reborn." 


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

And suddenly, there was a soft, almost eerie sound on the air – the sound of an unearthly beautiful music. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but it grew louder and louder until it filled the whole room and the heart of every person in it with a strange feeling of joy and courage and hope combined, more powerful than words, and more powerful than memories. Fawkes the Phoenix sang on Dumbledore's shoulder, and as he sang, all sadness was taken from them. When the music finally ebbed away, Dumbledore reached up to his shoulder and placed the magnificent bird gently on his arm, where it sat quite as still as before. 

"We have good cause for hope," Dumbledore said, smiling again. "Fawkes knows it." He looked at each of the witches and wizards in the room in turn. Some of them smiled back at him, others seemed to be looking inward, still listening to the music that was now inside them. 

"So what do you want us to do?" Sturgis Podmore finally asked in a whisper, his voice a strange mix of eagerness and apprehension.  

"All that you can, Sturgis," Dumbledore replied. "Every little helps. But none of you will be forced to play a bigger part in this than you chose for yourself. I promise you that everything you do, you will do of your own free will. I must ask you all to be as strong as you can, but I cannot ask you to be stronger than that. I do not demand self-denial and blind loyalty. I do not demand a lifetime of service and submission. I do not demand an oath of unconditional obedience." 

Dumbledore's eyes travelled over the assembled witches and wizards again, and came to rest on the black figure of Severus Snape in his corner. "I know too well," he said softly, "that loyalties may change, services may be offered to more than one master, and oaths may be broken." 

Snape's eyes met Dumbledore's with unblinking steadiness. 

"Only be aware," Dumbledore continued gravely after a tense pause, "that this is no game we're playing. I do not pretend it will be easy. I do not ask anyone to sever ties with your friends and family, or to put your position in the wizarding society at stake. But I must warn you that there might be conflicts of loyalty that you will have to be prepared to face. This is particularly important for those of you working for the Ministry or holding other official positions. Your involvement in the Order, should it come to light, could have more serious consequences than some awkward questions and the loss of the respect of your employers and colleagues. It means risking your jobs, and maybe even more than that."

"We're aware of that," Arthur Weasley said quietly. 

"Thank you, Arthur. It is crucial to the success of our mission that we have some Ministry employees in the Order. I do not intend to work against the Ministry unless I must, but I am afraid we had better take care to always be one step ahead of them, rather than one behind.

"One more thing, before we turn to the practicalities," Dumbledore continued. "I assure you I'm aware that I have already placed a great responsibility on your shoulders, simply by inviting you to come here tonight. This responsibility will grow with every further step you take into the Order of the Phoenix. I urge you to think well and carefully about it before you decide to take those steps. And even when you have taken them – if you feel, now or later, that it is too heavy a burden for you, do not be afraid to speak up and tell me so."

Sturgis Podmore blushed to the roots of his straw-coloured hair. He and Hestia Jones nodded in obvious relief. 

"And now, to the practical side of things," Dumbledore said briskly. "As for communication among ourselves, for the present we will have to stick to owls. I doubt they're being systematically intercepted, but all the same, be very careful how you word things. Do not let out any hint of the Order's existence. This place will be our Headquarters. Someone from the Order will always be here. The only way in and out is through the front door. And remember to keep your voices down in the entrance hall."

"These Headquarters," Hestia Jones spoke up timidly for the first time, "they scare me a little. What _is_ this place?" Several of the other wizards nodded as if they had meant to ask the same question. 

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "that is another question to which there is no simple answer, I'm afraid." He looked at Lupin and the dog next to him as if to ask for their approval to continue. The dog sat up very straight on its chair. Lupin put his arm over its back, like he would put his arm around the shoulders of a human friend, and gave Dumbledore a little nod. 

"This," Dumbledore said, "is the noble and most ancient house of Black." 

The reaction of his audience was very much as was to be expected. 

"Black?" Hestia Jones gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth in shock. 

"Black!" exclaimed Sturgis Podmore. "But – but they're Dark wizards!"

"We're in the house of Sirius Black's family?" Emmeline Vance demanded sharply, looking alarmed as if she was expecting a whole host of Blacks to burst into the kitchen any moment.

"You've got some nerve." Elphias Doge tried to hide his nervousness behind sarcasm. 

Those in the room who had seen this coming remained silent, exchanging rather anxious looks. 

"This used to be the home of the Black family, indeed," Dumbledore said. "And yes, you might call them Dark wizards. But be that as it may, no Dark wizard will enter this house while it is our Headquarters. The owner has seen to that."

"The _owner?_" Emmeline Vance was not easily satisfied. 

"Yes, the owner," Dumbledore confirmed. "Dedalus here informs me that the private property of any witch or wizard is always passed on to their next of kin after their death. As long as there's a relative still alive, it may not be confiscated by the Ministry, or claimed by a third person, under any circumstances. In these matters, I fully rely on the legal opinion provided by the senior partner of Diggle, Diggle and Hopkirk, Diagon Alley solicitors since 1679, himself." 

Dedalus Diggle nodded vigorously in agreement. Lupin could see Moody tapping his foot impatiently behind Dumbledore's back, and wished that the Headmaster would stop lecturing the assembled Order on wizarding laws of inheritance and come to the point. The dog at his side sat still as a statue. 

"And in the case of the Black family," Dumbledore continued, "the only surviving family member in the direct line happens to be Sirius Black. This is his house." 

"But Albus," Elphias Doge ventured to say, "isn't this a bit risky? Black is on the run – what if he comes back here to hide, or something?"

"That is exactly why we are here, Elphias," Dumbledore said. "Because it's such an excellent hiding place. We're here with Sirius Black's consent. As a matter of fact, we're here at his invitation." 

This was too much. Sturgis Podmore opened his mouth, but no word came out. Doge fell back into his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. In contrast, Emmeline Vance sat even more upright, her hands gripping the arms of her chair. "He _knows?"_

"It may sound unbelievable," Dumbledore continued firmly, "but I must ask you to hear me out. Everything will be explained, if you let me. I spoke to Sirius at Hogwarts a little more than a year ago, on the night of his recapture and subsequent escape. And I learned things from him that it is high time all of you who are here tonight learned as well."

Nobody interrupted him this time. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore's ancient face, those of the dog gleaming yellow in the fire light. 

"I learned the truth about a day fourteen years ago," Dumbledore began, "a truth that we all failed to see back then, and that we never bothered to uncover afterwards. We were blinded," he said forcefully, raising his voice, "content to trust our eyes, rather than our hearts, which spoke so differently. For all these years, we have believed Sirius Black to be a traitor and a murderer. For all these years, we have pitied and honoured Peter Pettigrew as the innocent victim of a ruthless killer. But we were wrong. Terribly wrong."

He paused. Every face that was turned to him reflected either disbelief, or anxiety, or both. The tension was palpable. 

"I must ask you all to let go of this comfortable and familiar version of events," Dumbledore continued in the same clear voice, "and to do justice to the truth, and justice to Sirius Black. I know him to be a brave man, an honest man, and an innocent man. I therefore ask you to recognise him for what he is, and has always been: one of us." 

Nobody moved or spoke.

"Absurd," Emmeline Vance finally whispered. 

Dedalus Diggle was shaking his head, and he was not the only one who did.

_"Why?"_ asked Sturgis Podmore. 

"Let me tell you."

"Albus," said Elphias Doge, leaning forward in his chair, with a nervous glance in the direction of the fireplace where Severus Snape was standing. "You've asked us the same once before." 

Snape's black eyes met Doge's, and the old wizard almost winced under their dark fire. He looked away quickly. 

"And I was right," Dumbledore said calmly. "You surely don't doubt _that_ any longer?" 

Doge blushed, but made no answer. 

"But just like last time, Elphias," Dumbledore continued, "I do not expect you to take my word for it without proof. So let me tell you _why_."

And as he had promised, he did. He told the assembled Order, briefly and briskly, of Peter Pettigrew's treason fourteen years ago, of his flight in the shape of a rat, of Sirius's escape from Azkaban many years later, and of Peter's discovery in the Shrieking Shack on the edge of Hogsmeade. He spoke very quickly, as if he feared that he would lose their attention, and their confidence, if he paused. And although he only recounted the very gist of what would otherwise have been a much longer and even more unbelievable story, it still took a long time. The witches and wizards listened in complete silence.

But it was not a friendly silence, Lupin realised with growing disquiet. It wasn't working. It wasn't working at all. They might be listening, but they clearly didn't believe what they were hearing. None of their faces, hard masks of doubt and disbelief, softened as Dumbledore progressed in his tale. It had been a mistake to spring the truth on them like this, unprepared as they were. . They had got too used to the other, the more comfortable truth, and they weren't going to let go of it so easily. Minerva McGonagall had been right. For once, Dumbledore had overestimated the power of the truth, Lupin thought bitterly. And the power of his own gift of speech. There was no knowing what would happen when Dumbledore came to the end of his tale. But it was too late now. There was no turning back. 

Lupin knew that Sirius beside him shared his fears. There had been no mention of a big black dog anywhere in the story, but Lupin could feel the dog under his arm fidgeting nervously now. He tightened his embrace, trying to give Sirius the reassurance that he so desperately needed himself. 

He had uncomfortably felt the eyes of every witch and wizard in the room on his back when they had come to the part of Peter's second escape. The memory of it was painful enough, even though Lupin's transformation hadn't been mentioned with a single word. He was thankful that Dumbledore had spared him at least that. 

When the Headmaster had finished, there was a short silence, old and new questions, old and new doubts in many faces. And then, they suddenly all spoke at once. 

"Unbelievable!" 

"But the Muggles – "

"Not Peter!" 

"How - "

"That _dirty_ –"

"Oh, James and Lily!" 

"Why didn't – "

"And we're to believe a wild tale like this," Doge's wheezy voice rose sceptically above the others, "without further proof, second or third hand as it is, and coming from mere school children, and a – " he stopped short, his face colouring slightly again. 

This time, the dog did let out a low growl and bared his fangs at Doge, but Lupin certainly made no move to prevent it. 

"Please," Dumbledore said firmly, raising his hand, determined at last to put an end to all doubts. "You wish for first hand evidence, Elphias? You can have it. If my and Remus Lupin's word is not enough, no doubt Sirius Black himself will gladly provide the answers to all your remaining questions. Ask him yourself. He's here tonight." 

Lupin felt something tighten in his stomach that made it hard to breathe. The dog at his side sat staring at Dumbledore, so alert now that it was trembling. The Headmaster gave it an encouraging smile. 

"Sirius… if you could resume your usual form."

There was no time for the meaning of these words to sink in. The black dog instantly leapt out from under Lupin's arm, down from the chair, and as it leapt, transformed back into a man. Landing on two feet next to Dumbledore was Sirius Black in his human form, facing the assembled Order of the Phoenix with his arms crossed and a look of defiance on his face, daring them to challenge him and the truth of what they'd heard.

But nobody did. The faces Sirius looked into only spoke of utter bewilderment and confusion at so many astonishing revelations within so short a time. Half the room was staring at him with their mouths literally open. 

Then suddenly, the tall black wizard and the young witch next to him, who had remained completely silent during Dumbledore's account, gave each other a short nod, and in a few long strides, the black wizard had crossed the room to where Sirius was standing. Minerva McGonagall and Arthur Weasley exchanged an alarmed look. Moody reached into his robes for his wand. Lupin jumped up from his chair. But the black wizard got to Sirius first, reached out with his arm – but all he did was extend his hand to him.

"The name's Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said in a deep but resonant voice. "Auror and Squad Commander at the Ministry of Magic. I've been in charge of the hunt for you for the past two years. It's a great honour to meet you at last."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

After what seemed like ages, Sirius, slowly and hesitantly and not taking his eyes off the other's face, took Kingsley Shacklebolt's hand. 

And the room exploded. 

It was an outcry of relief, all tension gone, discharged in one single moment, all shock and doubt and anxiety dissolving into thin air. Everybody was suddenly on their feet, laughing and clapping enthusiastically, pressing towards Sirius to follow the Auror's example. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt had broken the ice.

Sirius was soon surrounded by many smiling faces, some almost crying with emotion. Lupin was the first to pull Sirius into a bone-breaking hug, and many others followed. People shook his hand, patted him on the back, embraced him like a long lost son. A huge warm wave of sympathy washed over Sirius and nearly swept him off his feet. 

"I never – _never –" Emmeline_ Vance sobbed, while Elphias Doge shook Sirius's hand very gravely, searching for the right words and not finding any.

"Thank you," stammered Sturgis Podmore, looking close to tears, and without making it clear who he was thanking, or what for. "Thank you. Thank you." 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Hestia Jones cried over and over again.

Bill Weasley gave Sirius a hearty clap on the shoulder. "You _did_ it!" he beamed. Mrs Weasley embraced him silently, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. 

Sirius found it hard to think clearly. He found it hard to think at all. Here he was, a despised traitor at one moment and a long lost friend at the next, from one minute to another a ruthless killer and an innocent victim, a villain and a hero. His head was swimming. He felt downright drunk.

"How – " he finally managed to ask Kingsley Shacklebolt over Mrs Weasley's flaming red head. 

"How do I know it's the truth?" Shacklebolt asked back, and chuckled quietly. "Because it's the only version of the story that really makes sense. The other one never fitted your profile anyway."

"Profile," snorted Alastor Moody's voice behind him. "All this modern nonsense. You've got to feel it in your _gut_, Shacklebolt, when someone's got a black heart. And this one's –" Moody nodded in Sirius's direction, "- this one's is made of gold." 

"Mr Black!" Dedalus Diggle squealed excitedly, pushing his way through the crowd and wringing Sirius's hand as if he'd never get a second chance. "Allow me – should the Wizengamot ever initiate formal rehabilitation proceedings, Diggle, Diggle and Hopkirk would be honoured -"

"Congratulations," a silky voice drowned Diggle's excited formalities. Sirius turned sharply and came face to face with Severus Snape, who was the only one in the room who wasn't even remotely smiling. "I see you have not lost your ability to win everyone's heart in an instant," Snape went on, his voice still soft and yet with an edge as cutting as a razor blade. "In fact, it seems winning them back took you no longer than losing them in the first place. And as for the noble and most ancient house of Black – " he looked around the kitchen with a curl of his lip that was closer to a sneer than to a smile, "it is a stately home indeed. You must be exceedingly proud of it." 

Sirius's hands curled into fists, but he never got the chance to reply. 

"Sirius! Hey, Sirius!" The young witch with the spiky hair had fought her way through to him and took him by the arm, separating the opponents and drawing Sirius back into the atmosphere of celebration. "Don't you remember me?" she asked excitedly, and laughed as his mind raced, trying to recall where he had met her before. "Oh, I was little. Like this, look!" She screwed up her face in concentration for a moment, and then suddenly, her short hair had grown into two long blond pigtails, and her nose had become shorter and a little snub. She looked like a little schoolgirl. 

"Nymphadora!" Sirius exclaimed, recognising not the schoolgirl, but her ability to appear like one at will. 

"Yes, it's me," she laughed. "But it's Tonks now. People call me Tonks."

"How did _you_ get here?"

"Through the door like everyone else," she grinned, "with Kingsley." She pointed over her shoulder at Shacklebolt, who was in an animated conversation with Moody and Dumbledore now. "He's my boss."

"You're – you're an _Auror?_" Sirius stuttered, completely bewildered.

  
"Yeah, I am." She gave him another mischievous grin. "But don't worry, I'm here privately."

"You've also been – hunting for me?" 

"No, no, not me. We juniors never get to do the really exciting things... oh." She blushed. "Sorry, I mean – " 

Sirius shook his head. His own cousin, an Auror? And working alongside the one who had been on his scent for two years, and who had just, the very moment he had been supposed to finish his job, publicly proclaimed it to be redundant? 

"What's wrong?" Lupin's voice interrupted his jumbled thoughts. 

"Oh, Remus," he said, glad to have something simple to say. "Nymphadora, this is Remus Lupin. We're friends from school. Remus, this is Nymphadora Tonks, another Auror from the Ministry."

"Hi," said Tonks brightly, smiling at Lupin. "It's Tonks." 

But Lupin didn't react. He just stood there like a statue, staring dazedly at her as if she was a vision in a dream. 

"Nymphadora is Andromeda Black's daughter," Sirius explained, wondering what had suddenly got into his friend. 

"Pleasure," Lupin finally mumbled, and formally extended his hand. 

"Oh, not always," Tonks said with a grin, taking Lupin's hand. "My mum can be quite a pain at times."

Lupin coloured slightly, but he seemed to have lost his voice. 

"I know you didn't mean that," she said with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too." They let go of each other's hands, and Lupin looked down at his as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"I remember Andromeda as a wonderful person," Sirius said just to say something. 

"And I remember you as a wonderful uncle," Tonks teased him, "forever telling me to stop pestering you about transfiguring my dolls into Nifflers or pixies or something else more interesting." 

"I'm not your uncle," said Sirius lamely. "I'm your first cousin once removed or something." 

"I don't care," Tonks said cheerfully. "You acted the uncle part really well. Oh, come on." She gave him a little nudge in the ribs. "That was long ago. I do my own transfigurations now. I've always liked you, you know. And you're really cute as a dog. I mean – " She broke off and looked apologetically at Sirius and then at Lupin, who was, for no good reason that Sirius could think of, still looking intently at his hands. 

"Oh", Sirius said without thinking, "wait till you see Remus as a wolf then." 

Lupin looked up very sharply at his friend. Their eyes met, and there was a sadness in Lupin's that was as sobering to Sirius as a bucket of cold water over his head. 

"Ouch." Sirius bit his lip hard as he realised what he'd just said. He felt his blood rise hotly into his face.

"A wolf?" Tonks asked Lupin innocently. "How cool! Are you an Animagus, too, then?"

"Well," said Lupin slowly, and Sirius could hear how much it was costing his friend to keep a light tone in his voice, "you could call it an involuntary Animagus, I suppose."

Tonks frowned, but then she understood, and her eyes widened. "Oh," was all she said. 

There was a very awkward silence. It was Sirius's turn now to stare down at his own hands as if there was nothing more interesting in the world, his face burning. None of them was sorry when Dumbledore's voice suddenly rose over the babble of the others', giving them a welcome excuse to turn away from each other to listen.  

"Dear friends," Dumbledore called, "if I may have your attention once more."

The witches and wizards fell silent and made to return to their places. 

"Thanks a lot, Sirius," Lupin said sarcastically, and strode past him back to his own chair. The bitterness in his friend's voice pierced Sirius to the heart. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Dumbledore still had some practical things to discuss with the Order, but Sirius hardly listened, even when Dumbledore talked about the need to watch over Harry at his aunt and uncle's house. He and Lupin were sitting side by side again, but very stiffly, and avoided meeting each others' eyes.

Sirius felt like kicking himself, painfully aware that even a good kicking was much less than he deserved. What a supreme idiot he had been, making sure that the first thing Tonks found out about Lupin, right after his name, was just _that._ What on earth had made him start talking about wolves? There had just been no call to mention that. Or had there? Sirius tried to be honest with himself and found it surprisingly hard. No, there hadn't been a single decent reason for it, he told himself firmly. On the contrary. On the very contrary. And sitting here now feeling guilty wasn't going to help, it wasn't going to make Tonks forget what she'd heard. How was he supposed to repair that damage?

"Tonight," Dumbledore was saying, "Arabella Figg has kindly offered to take this task upon herself. But that's more than we can ask of her, as she's already keeping an eye on Harry during the daytime. It would be a great help if you could all spare a night or two now and then to make sure the boy is safe. I know it is a rather tedious task, but I'm afraid it's necessary. I can't lock Harry up in his aunt and uncle's house. "

If you can do it with other people, why can't you do it with Harry, too? Sirius thought bitterly, glad for a moment to have someone else to direct his anger at.

"It is a great relief to know one of us will always be close at hand – just in case. Is anyone willing to volunteer for one of the coming nights?"

"I'll go tomorrow," Nymphadora Tonks offered immediately. "No problem. I've got the whole weekend off, and my mum has long given up asking where and how I spend my Saturday nights." 

"Thank you, Nymphadora. Arabella Figg will show you the place, and provide you with all the necessary details and equipment. And with as much of her excellent home-made cake as you could possibly want." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. 

"I'll do Sunday night, then," Bill Weasley volunteered.

"Do be careful, Bill," his father warned him. "It wouldn't do to arouse suspicion at work when you get there overtired on Monday morning."

"I've given thought to that, Dad," Bill replied. "You're forgetting this Monday's a Bank Holiday." 

"That's settled, then," Dumbledore said. "Thank you for your help, and thank you all for your patience tonight. We will meet here again at regular intervals, or whenever the need arises, while we're waiting for… news…" For the fraction of a second, his eyes travelled again to Severus Snape in his corner. "And in the meantime, do take care. Keep your eyes and ears open. Be prudent, and be vigilant. This meeting is concluded."

There was a little commotion as they all got to their feet and made to leave. Dumbledore insisted on them leaving the house only in small groups, in order not to attract too much attention, so Sirius had a lot of time to say goodbye to Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt in the hall while they were waiting for Moody to literally see all the others safely out of the house. 

"We need to talk some time soon," the black Auror said to Sirius. "About where the investigation will be going now. There's got to be some sort of pattern as to where you'll be spotted and what we suspect you'll be up to. We need to devise a strategy." 

"I really don't want you to get into trouble for that," Sirius said awkwardly. He had only just realised what an absurd situation this meeting had left Kingsley Shacklebolt in. He had to keep conducting his investigation, and do it convincingly, and at the same time make absolutely sure that it would not lead anywhere. It would take more than the average cunning to make a good job of that, and more than the average nerve to be ready to take the risk.

"It's really great you're doing this. I'm sorry about it," Sirius apologised.

But Kingsley Shacklebolt only laughed. "You needn't be," he said, and winked. "On the contrary – I have a feeling my job will be twice as much fun now as it was before."

"We must meet again, too!" Tonks said eagerly. "There's so much to talk about, I'm dying to hear what you've been up to all these years."

"I assure you most of these years don't make for an interesting story at all," said Sirius dryly, "but as for the rest, that's fine." 

"Can I come over for dinner then, some time? You'll be here, won't you?"

"I'll always be here," Sirius said heavily. 

"Shall we make it tomorrow, then?" Tonks asked, not noticing the change in his tone. "Before I go down to Surrey?"

Sirius hesitated. "Come on Sunday, Tonks," he said then. "So you can – you can tell me about Harry and everything."

"Sunday then," Tonks confirmed with a smile. 

"All right, we'd better get going," Moody announced from the door. He and the two Aurors were now the last visitors left. And a moment later, they too were gone – back to their duties, back to resume their tireless hunt for a dangerous mass murderer called Sirius Black. 

Sirius felt like singing. 

* * *

Remus Lupin, down in the kitchen, didn't. 

He had kept himself busy re-arranging the furniture so the kitchen could serve its usual purpose again, but when he had heard Sirius coming back downstairs, he had made sure his friend found the room deserted.

And so it was – deserted except for Kreacher, who was just sneaking back to his boiler cupboard. Sirius had sent him upstairs to the gloomy drawing room before the meeting had started, but he suspected the sly house-elf had at least spied on the arrival and the departure of the large group of wizards and witches, and put two and two together that they were up to something that his mistress would never have tolerated in her house. He was muttering under his breath, but Sirius didn't bother to listen. It wouldn't be anything new. 

"Just one more gobletful of this," Lupin announced to no one in particular, coming out of the pantry carrying his small cauldron, and busied himself heating the potion on the stove, still carefully avoiding to look at Sirius. 

For a minute or two, Sirius watched his friend stir the unpleasantly smelling potion in silence. "Remus -" he began. 

Lupin paused, but didn't turn around. "Never mind," he said stiffly, and resumed his stirring.

"You do mind," said Sirius quietly.

"All right, I do," Lupin said indifferently to the wall in front of him. "So what?"

"So _this."_ Sirius grabbed a chair, put it down in the middle of the kitchen with a bang, and sat down on it with crossed arms, blocking the way to the door, determined not to let this day of all days end with both of them feeling miserable on his account. "I know it's very late, and we're all under a bit of strain at the moment, but I want you to turn around and look at me and tell me I'm the world's biggest git. Now."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Lupin evenly, still stirring his potion with exaggerated care. 

"I mean it. I'll hex you if you don't."

Lupin sighed, put his spoon down and turned around. "But you know," he said wearily, "that I'd have had to tell her anyway sooner or –"

In one smooth movement, Sirius had whipped out his wand and pointed it straight at his friend. "Say it."

For a second, Lupin's eyes grew wide with alarm. He instinctively made to reach for his own wand, but then his hand fell to his side, and he sighed resignedly. "If it makes you happy," he said, "you are – "  He broke off and shook his head.

"Yes?"

"You know, Sirius," said Lupin, and his voice was suddenly back to normal, "you _really_ are sometimes. Like right now."

A moment later, they both burst out laughing, laughing hysterically, laughing so hard they almost cried. Lupin sank onto a chair, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, shaking his head helplessly. Sirius was clutching the back of his own chair to keep himself from falling off it, laughing like he hadn't laughed in over fourteen years. At last, the tension that he had felt mounting higher and higher inside him over the course of the whole week subsided, driven away by the power of laughter.

"Oh, Padfoot," Lupin said after a long time, when he could speak again, "this calls for a celebration. We've done it. I need a drink."

"Me too." Sirius heaved himself out of his chair. "If there's anything left." 

"Oh right, you hopelessly squandered that whole bottle of Ogden's on the first night here," Lupin moaned in comic despair.

"But I seem to remember, hazily I admit, that I had quite some help with that," Sirius grinned. "And besides," he added half jokingly and half bitterly, "I think I'd never have made it through this week without it." 

"Honestly, I'm impressed how you made it through the meeting tonight."

"Oh, so am I," Sirius said cheerfully. "I assure you it almost killed me. Wizarding laws of inheritance, I ask you. When Shacklebolt came bearing down on me like that, I almost hoped he'd simply curse me and be done, just to get it over." 

"_I _just really hope Dumbledore knew what he was doing there", said Lupin quietly.

"Oh, he did," Sirius shrugged. "It worked. That's all I care about. Now get this terrible stuff out of the way, and I'll find us something proper to drink. Is that potion _supposed_ to smell burnt?"

"The Wolfsbane!" Lupin jumped to his feet. The potion in the cauldron was giving off a distinct burned smell now. 

"Does that make it useless?" Sirius asked concernedly. 

"No," Lupin replied and pulled a face, "only even more disgusting." He filled a mug, held his nose, and drank the potion down as fast as he could in three big gulps. 

Sirius went to get some butterbeer, while Lupin scraped the last dose of Wolfsbane from the bottom of the cauldron, and put it away safely in a little pot. "There," he said, dropping the cauldron in the sink, "something to clean for Kreacher tomorrow."

"He'll be delighted," said Sirius, looking at the mess. "Why don't they just invent instant Wolfsbane or something?"

"Snape says they're at it. Oh, come on." Lupin rolled his eyes as a shadow passed over Sirius's face at the mentioning of the name. "Would you prefer me to refer to him as 'You Know Who', or 'He Who Must Not Be Named'?"

Sirius grinned in spite of himself. "Did you hear what he said to me?"

"I heard that about the house," Lupin admitted. "You didn't really let that get to you, did you?" 

Sirius didn't answer, but the grin was gone from his face.

"Then let me tell you something," Lupin said, and sat down at the table. "It's very simple, Sirius. He envies you, that's all."

"_Envies_ me? For _this_ place?" Sirius gave a snort.

"Yes," Lupin said quietly. "See, you had the home he always wanted. I know that's hard to understand, but you've seen my own place – and still, I might live Ministry-owned wizarding welfare housing now, but even I didn't have to grow up in it."

Sirius stared at him. "How - how do you know that?" 

"Remember my next door neighbour, the old Squib? The one whose cats were so frightened of you?"

Sirius nodded. 

"He's been living there for decades. And he could tell you stories about the Snapes that would make your hair stand on end."

Sirius made to say something, but decided against it. He looked thoughtfully into the crackling fire for a while, and then suddenly reached for his butterbeer. "Snape's problem, not mine," he said. "Cheers."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Sirius had gone to bed late that night, still aglow with the fire that the many friendly faces and friendly words had lit within him, the phoenix song still echoing in every fibre of his heart. He had been drunk with joy and friendship and the hope that from now on, things would be starting to change. 

Waking up to the gloomy reality of the dusty study the next day was extremely sobering. His first thought, as he blinked into the bright sunlight outside the window, was that he was still stuck in this house, no matter whether two people knew the truth or two dozen, and that all their smiles and all their sympathy wouldn't make him a free man. 

The house was very quiet. He had slept almost until noon, and Lupin, who must have been up and about earlier in the morning, had already withdrawn to his room and locked and bolted the door. There was nothing to be done for him now until the moon began to wane again. Until then, Sirius would be alone. 

He made some late breakfast in the kitchen. There was a copy of today's _Daily Prophet_ on the table. Sirius flicked through it as he drank his tea. It was full of meaningless nonsense, but there was also a small item in the bottom left corner of page 8, entitled _Wizengamot__ Reform Under Way_. It mentioned that Albus Dumbledore had _'stepped aside from his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in a gesture of encouragement to the necessary and over-due reforms of this venerable institution_'. Sirius snorted in disgust and threw the paper into the fire. 

A moment later, as he watched it curl into ashes, he regretted it – after all, he had nothing to do, and something to read wouldn't have come amiss. He went back upstairs to take a look at his father's books in the study. A cloud of dust rose from each one he opened. Some of the pages almost crumbled in his hand. Others looked as if they had had their corners chewed off. Some of the books wouldn't open at all, but Sirius didn't bother to find out why. Most of the volumes didn't sound very interesting at any rate. There was a lot of wizarding history and genealogy, much of it in Latin and French, and also quite a few books that Sirius was sure were not sold at Flourish and Blotts, not even under the counter. He finally settled on the sofa with a stack of dusty copies of _Transfiguration Today_ from the 1970es, and started to flick through the January 1974 issue. 

January 1974 – he had still been at school then, getting bored in Minerva McGonagall's Transfiguration classes because they didn't progress quickly enough for his taste, and always getting twice as much homework as the rest of the class. He had always complained about that – quite pointlessly, really, since it had usually taken him only half the time the others had needed to complete theirs. Looking back, he realised he should have thanked Professor McGonagall for giving him the chance to delve so deeply into something he was really interested in, instead of letting him waste his time twiddling his thumbs in class and thinking up new mischief. 

_Switching Spells Revisited – a Critical Assessment of Switching Techniques for Inanimate Objects,_ the title of the first article read. It was over ten pages long, with lots of complex drawings and diagrams. Switching spells had come up in his OWL exam, Sirius remembered. They had been the ones on animate objects, which were more difficult. He remembered how he had, just for fun, switched a hamster in its cage and a large goldfish in its glass, standing several feet apart on different examiners' desks, instead of the simple, boring intra-species switch between the brown and the white hamster in front of him they had asked him to do. He grinned at the memory of his examiner's astonished face as the hamster threatened to drown in the glass and the goldfish wriggled helplessly at the bottom of the cage. 

It felt like it had happened aeons ago in some distant universe. 

Sirius turned to the next article, which was entitled _Genes or Genius: Can you learn to be a Metamorphmagus?,_ but he wasn't sure he wanted to read anything about Metamorphmagi right now, or even be reminded of the fact that they existed. Sirius threw down the magazine and went to spend the rest of the day in Buckbeak's company, looking out of the window onto the empty square below until darkness descended on it and a huge full moon rose over the withered trees, bathing Grimmauld Place in an eerie white light. 

* * *

It was late on Sunday afternoon when the doorbell rang again, its shrill clanking shattering the complete silence of the house with such force that Sirius, once more absorbed in an old issue of _Transfiguration Today_ (he had progressed as far as October 1976 by then), jumped when it went off. Inevitably, it roused not only him, but also his mother in her portrait downstairs, who promptly added her screams to the ringing of the bells. 

Tonks must have been in a hurry to get back to Grimmauld Place, Sirius thought as he made his way downstairs three steps at a time to close the curtains over the screaming portrait and, slightly out of breath, opened the door to – not his cousin, but Mrs Weasley and her son Bill. They both smiled at his surprised expression. 

"Hello," Bill greeted him when Sirius made no move to say anything. "We're from Meals on Brooms, your friendly Sunday dinner service. But we see you were obviously expecting someone else."

"I just thought I'd be along with some more shopping," Mrs Weasley explained.

"And I just came along to help with the bags," said Bill, presenting the paper bags he was carrying, "before I'm off to Surrey."

For a moment, Sirius had a fleeting vision of Mad-Eye Moody standing on the doorstep with _his_ shopping bags, and imagined how much more absurd the old Auror would have sounded saying "we're your friendly Sunday dinner service" instead of "you're dead". Bill Weasley seemed so much more comfortable with this kind of task. 

"That's really nice of you," Sirius finally said, remembering his manners and stepping aside to let the visitors in. "But – " He had been on the verge of saying that he didn't really need anything, when it finally registered with him that stocking up on the provisions in Grimmauld Place had probably very little to do with the real reason for Mrs Weasley's and her son's visit. "Oh right," he stammered. "You're welcome to stay for dinner, if you like… that is, if you're not wanted at home, Mrs Weasley…" 

Bill gave him a grin that quite plainly said something like "ah, he's got it". 

"I told you it's Molly," Mrs Weasley reminded Sirius kindly. "And no, I'm rather glad to be out of the way for the moment. Fred and George are taking their Apparation Tests tomorrow, they'll be Apparating all over the house tonight for some last minute practice. And Arthur is there to look after the children anyway." But she didn't seem too convinced that her husband would fulfil this task to her complete satisfaction. 

"So who _were_ you expecting?" Bill cut in. 

"Tonks," said Sirius curtly, leading the way downstairs to the kitchen.

"Oh, I _see_," Bill said quite pointedly. "If you'd rather want us to leave…" 

"No, I don't." Sirius meant it – he'd spent much of the day wondering whether it had been a good idea to invite Tonks at all, and had only just, on his way to the door, come to the conclusion that it hadn't. He felt a sudden surge of thankfulness towards the Weasleys. They had come to keep him company, but they'd be doing much more than that tonight. The more they were at the dinner table, the easier it would be. 

"Look, Tonks is my _cousin_," he said to the still grinning Bill, and the grin finally disappeared. 

As they entered the kitchen, Sirius was suddenly and uncomfortably aware that neither he nor Kreacher had lifted a finger to tidy up the place since Friday night. The used dishes from several meals had joined Lupin's dirty potion pots in the sink, and there were empty bottles of butterbeer on the table. But Mrs Weasley generously overlooked the mess and busied herself instead with unpacking her shopping, pointing her wand here and there to put the kettle on the stove and make the dishes wash themselves in the sink. 

"I could get Kreacher to help you with that," Sirius offered apologetically. "It's a job for a house-elf, really, and he hasn't done much all week."

"That's all right," said Mrs Weasley lightly. "I'm used to managing without a house-elf, Sirius, it's not a problem at all." She sat down and started peeling the potatoes, which jumped out of their skins at a flick of her wand. 

Sirius watched in fascination, and picked up a potato to try his luck. "So, how's your work at Gringotts, Bill?" he asked, joining Mrs Weasley at the table. 

"Oh, quite OK. Better actually than I thought a desk job would be. It might look like a bad move, careers wise," said Bill, looking at his mother as if he was waiting for the next instalment of an already much repeated argument. "But then, being in the Head Office here in London comes with some interesting opportunities. They might send me to their Paris branch for a while if I do well here, for example. Not as long as I'm needed in the Order, of course," he hastened to add as his mother's frown deepened. "That's what I came here for, really."

Mrs Weasley didn't reply, but she made the potatoes jump out of their skins with a force that made it clear that _they_ weren't going anywhere except in the pot, and least of all to Paris. "Oh, give them here," she said absent-mindedly, reaching for the potatoes that Sirius had tried to peel magically while Bill talked. All he had managed to do was give them some ugly hacks and cuts. 

"That's better than I could do without magic," he defended himself, and looked around for something else to do, to get rid of the feeling that he was sitting there uselessly while Mrs Weasley was taking care of the whole house and everyone in it. And as if in answer to his secret wish, the doorbell rang again.

"I'll go," he said quickly, and hurried upstairs.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Tonks, after all, _had_ been in a hurry to get back to Grimmauld Place. 

"I hope it's OK if I'm a little early," she said when Sirius opened the door to her. She had exchanged her spiky bleached hair for a mane of auburn curls that fell to her shoulders, and she wore a witch's robes today instead of Muggle clothes. Her eyes were a clear grey that went very well with the colour of her hair. 

"It's perfectly OK," said Sirius, rather stunned by her completely changed appearance, which was certainly as perfectly OK as the fact that she was rather early for dinner. 

Mrs Weasley and Bill looked no less impressed when they came back down to the kitchen together.

"Hi!" Tonks said in her usual bright manner, misreading their expressions as confusion. "I was the one with the short blonde hair on Friday. I'm Tonks. Can I lend you a hand with the dinner, Mrs Weasley?" 

"It's Molly, dear," said Mrs Weasley, looking around for something for Tonks to do. "You could help us set the table, everything will be quite ready in a minute. Plates are in the dresser over there." She took the pots and pans off the stove while Tonks went to get the plates.

"Is it only us four then?" Tonks asked, and Sirius caught himself listening for a note of disappointment in her voice that might have been there, or might not. 

"We'll be five with Remus," he said quickly. 

"That's great." Sirius would have given a lot to see her face just then, but Tonks had turned away to the dresser, and eagerly picked up a stack of plates. A little too eagerly - the one on top slipped through her fingers and shattered on the stone floor. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried, blushing furiously. "I always do that. _Reparo__."_ At a flick of her wand, the pieces of broken china flew together again to form the perfectly immaculate plate they had been before. "My mum taught me that spell even before I went to school," she said apologetically. "Definitely the one I still need most." She carefully picked the plate up and placed it on the table with the others. Bill laid out the cutlery. 

"Did Remus say when he'll be here?" Mrs Weasley asked Sirius neutrally. 

"I have no idea," he replied. "I haven't seen him since Friday. He'll be downstairs in his own time when he feels like it."

Mrs Weasley cast an uneasy look in Tonks's direction, but Tonks only nodded understandingly, and asked no questions. 

"Do you think he'd mind if we just got started?" Mrs Weasley suggested. "So Bill can have a proper dinner before he's off?" She held out her hands for their plates without waiting for an answer, and they began their meal. 

"This is delicious, Mrs Weasley – Molly," Tonks said right after the first bite. "I wish I was as great at cooking. But at home I'm banned from the kitchen, my mum says I just mess things up anyway."

Mrs Weasley shook her head in mild disapproval. "How are you ever going to learn, then? If you want, I could show you some –" 

"Tonks, how's Harry?" Sirius interrupted them. Praising Mrs Weasley's cooking might come first, but household tips definitely didn't.

Tonks, who had her mouth full, didn't answer immediately. 

"I'm sure Harry's fine," Mrs Weasley replied in her stead, somewhat irritably.

"That's true," Tonks confirmed a moment later. "He's fine, Sirius. You'd hear of it straight away if he wasn't."

"So what's he up to?" Sirius inquired. "Fine", after all, meant everything and nothing. 

"Not much, as far as I could see," Tonks reported. "He didn't leave the house at all while I was there. I walked around to the back alley and I could see him silhouetted against his open window. Like he was watching the sky, or waiting for someone, or something. I felt a lot like sneaking up under his window to have a little chat with him, but I didn't want to give him a fright. And besides, Arabella says he wasn't supposed to know that we're there at all."

"I just don't get it," said Sirius, sudden anger flaring up inside him again. "There's simply no point in keeping that a secret. The Order's existence, maybe, and the Order's other work, but why shouldn't he know _someone's_ there protecting him?"

"Dumbledore thinks it's better for him this way," said Mrs Weasley firmly.

"And _I_ think Harry would feel a lot better if he knew that his friends are around and taking care of him."

But would he really? Wouldn't he rather feel imprisoned, just like Sirius did himself, useless and depending on others? Maybe he'd even do something stupid, like run away from there just because he hated the feeling of being watched and confined to his Muggle family's home? That was just the kind of thing Harry might do. He'd run off from that place before. Maybe he was better off not knowing after all – for his own safety. But then, being cut off from everyone and everything had to be terrible for him, after all that had happened.

"Look," Bill began, but his mother's voice drowned his. 

"Harry's just a child," said Mrs Weasley rather loudly, "and if Albus Dumbledore thinks there are some things he shouldn't be burdened with, I must say I quite agree."

"It wouldn't be a burden," said Sirius heatedly. "He's got a right to know what's going on, and that we're there and doing something!" 

_But that's not true,_ a little voice in his head said. _You spend your days sitting somewhere watching the sky, too. None of you are actually doing anything, and you yourself least of all. You're all just waiting for the blow to fall, and if it falls anywhere near your godson, Sirius, you won't be there to take it in his stead as you promised you would._

"…and that's how it should remain," Mrs Weasley's words rose over Sirius's thoughts. They were followed by a frosty silence. Bill and Tonks exchanged a very uncomfortable look across the table. 

"And now," Mrs Weasley announced to no one in particular, and got up from her chair, "I'm going to put some of this back in the oven to keep it warm for Remus, if he won't come."

"Do you think he's all right?" Tonks asked Sirius rather anxiously. 

"Oh, he'll be," Sirius said. "It's not the first time it's a full moon, he knows how to handle that."

"But I'd still advise you not to go and check," said Bill lightly. 

Mrs Weasley gave her son a stern look. "You don't say things like that, Bill" she chided him. 

"Oh, but he's right," said a voice from the door. "And trust me, I should know."

Framed in the doorway was Remus Lupin, looking rather thin and worn in his shabby robes, and with what seemed in the flickering firelight like a few more grey strands in his brown hair. But his voice, Sirius noticed with relief, was the same as ever, and its lightness was real. Lupin quietly closed the door and came into the room. Tonks, who had been sitting with her back to him, got up to greet him. 

"Oh – Nymphadora," he said, recognising her. "How wonderful to see you again." 

Tonks opened her mouth. 

"It's Tonks," said Sirius, meaning to anticipate her reaction, but she only asked, "Are you all right?" in a tone of such genuine concern that Sirius felt rather stupid. 

"As fine as anyone could be, with the smell of a delicious dinner wafting through the house, and finding such pleasant company to enjoy it in," Lupin replied. 

_Good old Moony_, Sirius thought, slightly amused. At least he'd found his voice again. Next, he'd be kissing her hand. And maybe he would have done so, if Mrs Weasley hadn't at that moment placed a steaming plate on the last empty place at the table, and invited him to sit.

"That's lovely," he said, accepting the invitation. "Thanks ever so much, Molly." 

And this was where the pleasantries ended. They resumed their meal together, and Lupin did his best to catch up with the others at an amazing speed. He literally – there was no other word for it – _wolfed_ down his dinner as if he hadn't eaten anything all weekend, which, Sirius realised as he watched him with sympathy, was very likely the case. But his friend was doing very well – he was recovering from the full moon, but he wasn't recovering only from that.

For the moment though, Lupin was obviously not going to talk, unless it was to ask for a second helping, and Sirius didn't feel like resuming the conversation he had just had with Mrs Weasley, so he was quite thankful when Bill finally turned to a safer topic. 

"So, Tonks," said Bill conversationally, "how do you do that, changing your looks like that, I mean? Are you really a Metamorphmagus, or did your cousin once try to transfigure you into a chameleon and messed up?"

Tonks laughed. "I wouldn't put that past him," she said, and gave Sirius a quick smile. "But no, I am a Metamorphmagus."

"You're the first one I've ever met," Mrs Weasley rejoined the conversation. "They're quite rare apparently."

"Is it that hard to learn?" Bill asked.

"I'm afraid you can't learn it at all," said Tonks modestly. "Either you are or you aren't. You're born with it."

"Some say you can learn it," Sirius interjected.  

"Who says so?" Tonks asked back. 

  
"Someone in the January 1974 issue of _Transfiguration Today_," Sirius shrugged. 

"Whoa." Bill raised his eyebrows ironically. "Our discussion is certainly reaching awe-inspiring academic levels here." 

"The funny thing is," said Tonks quite seriously, "it _is _related to Transfiguration in some way or another, but nobody knows exactly how. It seems that learning Transfiguration systematically really boosts your range of appearances, while at the same time Metamorphmagi find it much easier than most wizards to master other complicated Transfiguration techniques, too. I mean – " She stopped short, a little embarrassed that she sounded as if she was boasting about it. "I mean, I've just always liked Transfiguration, like back at school."

"Professor McGonagall must have been delighted," Mrs Weasley said kindly. "It was your favourite subject, I suppose?"

"Oh yes. A definite favourite – beat even Potions." 

_"Potions?"_ four voices asked at the same time, all in various tones of surprise and disbelief. Even Remus Lupin had stopped eating, and put down his fork and knife to stare at Tonks. 

"That must have been before Snape's time," said Bill.

"No," Tonks said gravely, "that was actually _because_ of Snape. I mean – " She laughed at their doubtful faces. "You know, in my first year at Hogwarts, it was still the old Potions teacher, Professor what's-her-name, I can't even remember. This elderly lady that didn't ever teach us anything useful except household stuff and little cures for sore throats and things."

"But she was really good at _that." _Mrs Weasley sounded slightly affronted.

"Maybe she was," Tonks conceded, "but still, nobody ever took Potions seriously, and nobody was sorry when she retired. Then Professor Sprout took over for a year. Now Professor Sprout is a great herbologist and a wonderful person, but outside her greenhouses, she simply had no idea what she was doing, I'm sorry to say. So, in my third year, Snape got the job, and there –" Tonks snapped her fingers "- was Potions as Potions should be."

"I don't know about that," Bill muttered. 

"He was _brilliant_," Tonks said emphatically. 

"He might be a brilliant potion-maker," Mrs Weasley remarked sceptically, "but I'm not sure Professor Snape was exactly born to be a teacher."

"To put it mildly," Bill added, grinning appreciatively. "That's the first time I've ever heard you speak ill of a Hogwarts teacher, Mum." 

"Professor Snape has given each and every of my children nightmares in their turn," Mrs Weasley told the others defensively.

"That's not _quite_ true though," Bill corrected her. "With Fred and George, it's probably more the other way round." 

They all laughed heartily. 

"I know he can be a bit mean," Tonks admitted. "But it kind of takes the edge off it when you can take your revenge by growing long greasy hair and a hooked nose behind his back." More laughter followed her words. "Anyway," Tonks continued, "he knew what he was talking about. Snape was cool, in his own way. He was different. And he was _young_, for a teacher_. _Even now, he can't be much older than you two are." She nodded in Sirius's and Lupin's direction.

"He isn't," Sirius said, unsmiling. 

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Lupin asked her mockingly, at the same time giving Sirius the slightest look of warning. 

Tonks blushed. "Sorry," she said. "It's just – they were great classes. Particularly the last two years. We were only four students in his NEWT class then, only those that were really interested, you know. We were his elite, kind of. Snape taught us the most amazing things, stuff far beyond even the NEWT curriculum, things that students would normally never even hear about. Top-flight Potions, believe me. There were days when he actually seemed to _enjoy_ teaching us."

"Next thing you'll be telling us is that you've seen him _laugh," _Bill grinned.

"No," said Tonks, suddenly serious. "That, never."

"You're certainly exceptional in more than one way, Nymphadora," said Lupin. "You must be the only Hogwarts student who ever liked Snape's classes."

"Do you think I should tell him, one of these days?" Tonks asked brightly. "To cheer him up?"

"What, that you enjoyed his classes or that you were the only one who ever did?" Bill asked back.

"What do you think will cheer him up more?"

"The latter," said Lupin dryly. "Otherwise he'll think his teaching methods have failed."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"So how," Sirius asked Tonks when everyone's laughter had died down again, "did you progress from Snape's NEWT class to Auror training? I suppose that was a quite logical transition?"

Tonks either didn't notice the ambiguity in the question, or chose to ignore it. "Not logical at all," she said. "I really had no idea what I wanted to do when I left school, so I took a year off and travelled for a while and tried to make up my mind. I didn't want a boring office job, I wanted to do something practical. I've always been quite fascinated by technical stuff, it runs in my family, on my father's side – my dad had all these technical books and things that he inherited from my grandfather, I loved that."

"What did your grandfather do?" Mrs Weasley inquired politely.

"He was an engineer. Used to work for Thames Water."

"Oh, he was a _Muggle_," said Bill Weasley dismissively. "Who'd want a Muggle job?" 

"Well, you can't get one even if you want to," Tonks replied a little irritably. "They told me at the Ministry that –"

"- no witch or wizard is allowed to accept regular paid work in a Muggle job, for a Muggle employer, or in Muggle surroundings," Lupin supplied the official wording. The others looked at him in surprise. "Section 5 Clause 3 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy," he shrugged. "No exceptions under any circumstances. I know that one by heart." 

Bill Weasley seemed suddenly rather embarrassed. "I never knew that," he said very quietly. "What a bother for – " he was searching for an unoffending term "- for you people," he finished lamely.

"It _was_ a bother," Tonks confirmed. "So I had to scrap my plans of applying to a Muggle college, and worked in all kinds of weird wizarding jobs instead. Never stayed long in any of them. The longest I was in one place was a job supporting the management of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team."

"Wow," said Bill, "that sounds like a fun job." 

"It was kind of fun. But then, professional Quidditch is quite a dirty business, not only on the pitch. And after a while, I found the Isle of Anglesey was a bit of a backwater, really. I was aching to go back to London after the second season, so I took the first job I could get there, filling in for a witch on maternity leave. It was a bit of a joke, really – keeping tables and statistics for the Floo Network Regulation Panel in the Department of Magical Transportation. I know all about that now, transporting connections, communicating connections, permanent connections, temporary connections, extraordinary connections. Supremely boring, I assure you. And my boss, Madam Edgecombe, was a right old hag."

Sirius could vividly imagine his cousin getting into trouble with the notoriously over-correct senior Ministry officials.

"But one day," Tonks continued, "Kingsley Shacklebolt saw me in the Ministry canteen, amusing the other girls from the office with changing hairstyles, so he just came over and asked me straight away if I didn't want to employ those skills where they'd be really useful, and train to be an Auror."

"Just like that," said Bill. 

"Just like that," Tonks confirmed, and giggled at the memory. "At first I thought what he really wanted was to ask me out. Then I thought he was kidding. But he was right, you know. I soon discovered that this was exactly the kind of job I'd always wanted. Mind you, Kingsley Shacklebolt has a talent for doing exactly the right thing at the right time."

"Like on Friday," Lupin muttered.

"Yes, like on Friday."

"Dad thought Dumbledore had tipped Shacklebolt off to do exactly what he did," Bill remarked.

"No, he hadn't," said Tonks seriously. "I swear all that Kingsley and I knew was that giving us the address of Sirius Black's old family home as the place of a secret meeting would require _some_ explanation on Dumbledore's part. Kingsley had no idea what was coming, no more than I had."

An uneasy silence followed her words.

"I don't _believe_ it," said Lupin finally, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "What a gamble."

Sirius put his knife and fork down and swallowed hard. A gamble? Sheer madness, that's what it had been. He felt his stomach lurch at the thought of what could have happened if Shacklebolt hadn't been convinced by Dumbledore's words. He suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"Are you all right, Sirius?" Bill asked concernedly. 

"I - I think I am," Sirius lied, needing a second attempt to make his voice heard. What did Dumbledore think he was doing, staging a confrontation like that without warning either of them what might be coming, and with no safety measures in case his calculations went wrong? 

But it had worked, and Sirius had said himself that that was all he cared about. To be honest, it had worked much better than he would ever have dared to hope. As a matter of fact, _if_ he'd known who Shacklebolt was, he'd probably have refused to give it a chance, he'd have refused to attend the meeting at all, he'd have hidden in Kreacher's boiler cupboard instead. And he hated having to admit that to himself.

Sirius's eyes had unconsciously travelled to the cupboard door. He forced himself to turn back to his friends, who were now all looking at him with various degrees of concern on their faces. "I'm all right, really," he said, and picked up his knife and fork again, but he couldn't bring himself to eat any more.

"Look, if it makes you feel better," Tonks offered, "I can tell you a secret. Kingsley has been looking for the truth about your case for quite a while now. The longer he was on it, he said, the more was he convinced that there was something decidedly dodgy about it, about the way it was handled by the Ministry back then, with all those questions that were never answered, or never even asked. I think he was quite satisfied in the end to find out that he was right."

"Well, good for him," said Sirius, and noticed with relief that he was back in control of his voice. "Tell him that if I can do him another favour of the sort, I'd be happy to oblige, as long as it doesn't involve giving me the fright of my life more than about once a week." 

"I'm sure that can be arranged," said Tonks, and they all laughed again. Tonks's curly mane danced around her shoulders in the firelight. 

"Oh dear," said Mrs Weasley, and cleared away the plates. "Are you staying for the pudding, Bill? There's a fruit salad."

Bill Weasley looked up at the high windows and the waning light outside to check the time. "I'd best be off," he said. "Don't want to keep Arabella Figg waiting." 

"Best Apparate directly into her backyard, safe from view, and knock on her kitchen door," Tonks advised him. "And her cake really is delicious," she added with a mischievous wink. 

"All right then," said Bill and got up from his chair – and as he did, the doorbell went off once more in the hall over their heads. They all looked at each other in surprise. 

"Were you expecting anyone _else?"_ Bill asked Sirius, who shook his head. The expression on their faces slowly changed from surprise to unease.

"Come on, Bill," said Lupin practically, and got up with him.

"I'll come, too," said Tonks. 

"No, don't bother," Lupin said wryly. "It's your weekend off, didn't you say?"

Tonks rolled her eyes, but remained seated. Bill and Lupin left the room, and the others could hear one of them hurrying up two flights of stairs to check from an upper window who was outside, while the other silenced Mrs Black's shrieks. Then the front door opened, there were muffled voices in the hall, and a minute later they came back downstairs, Lupin and Bill escorting a panting and very worried looking Mr Weasley. 

"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, rushing towards her husband. "What's wrong? Anything with the children?" 

"The children are fine," Mr Weasley assured her, looking unhappily at each of their small party in turn. "I'm sorry to disrupt your dinner, everyone, but I thought I'd better come here straight away. I've just talked to Albus Dumbledore through the fire. Things are beginning to move."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Arthur Weasley fell down on a chair and ran his hand through his thin red hair. They all stared at him expectantly. "There are dodgy things going on at the Ministry," he said, slowly recovering his breath.

"At the _Ministry?_" the others exclaimed in one voice. 

"I have no idea what's going wrong," said Mr Weasley, spreading his hands. "We didn't talk long. Dumbledore just said exactly that, 'things are beginning to move', and that we'd have to keep a close eye on the Ministry. He said it as if he meant the place itself, the building. And he said he had it confirmed from both sides." 

"Both sides?" Tonks asked, looking around for an explanation. 

"Snape," Lupin at her shoulder said quickly. "Go on, Arthur."

"Snape?" Tonks's eyebrows formed a dozen new questions.

"Dumbledore says it will mean twice as much work for the Order as before, and it's urgent," Mr Weasley continued, not bothering to explain what could wait. "He says he'll give us the details at our next meeting. That will be on Thursday. But he's apparently already charged Alastor Moody with devising a counter-strategy."

"To counter _what?"_ asked Sirius impatiently.

"I _don't know!"_ Mr Weasley cried almost pleadingly. "Moody wants all the Order's Ministry employees at his house for a briefing early tomorrow morning, before we go to work. You'll probably find an owl at your home telling you as much, Nymphadora. And he also wants you to join him there straight away, Remus."

"What, right now?"

"'As soon as you can make it', he said."

Lupin sighed, but nodded.  

"And as for our Headquarters," said Arthur Weasley, turning to his wife and Sirius, "twice as much work for the Order will mean twice as much traffic here, so Dumbledore has asked us - " He ran his fingers through his hair again, not knowing how to break the news. "Or better, he asks _you_ specifically, Molly, if you could stay here for a while… keep the house going… "

"For how long?" his wife asked.

"He wasn't precise about it. A few days. A week. Maybe longer."

Now it was Mrs Weasley's turn to sink down on a chair. "But Arthur," she said rather weakly, "the children! What about the children? Who's going to look after them?" 

"That was the first thing I asked Dumbledore, too," said Mr Weasley resignedly, "and he said, bring them along."

"Bring them – what?" Mrs Weasley looked up sharply at her husband, her eyes widening in surprise. "No!" she exclaimed then. "How can he ask us to drag our children into this?" 

Mr Weasley took her hand. "We wouldn't be dragging them into this," he said, but not quite believing his own words. "Nobody under age or still at school is allowed in the Order. They won't share any secrets they could be made to tell, Molly."

Mrs Weasley didn't look at all comforted at the idea that anyone _could _try to make any of her children tell a secret, no matter whether they shared it or not. She seemed on the verge of tears.

"Honestly," Mr Weasley went on, "I believe they'd be as safe here as they're at The Burrow, if not safer. And they could help you with the house… or do their homework…" He looked around at the others for support. 

"Look, Molly," said Sirius suddenly, "Dumbledore wouldn't have suggested it if he didn't think your children were safe here. And clearing out the house is a big task, really, I'd be glad if you could all come and help me with it." He hoped he sounded as honest and reassuring as he meant to. One half of him shared Mrs Weasley's concerns, but the other half welcomed the opportunity to issue the invitation – he was yearning for company, and he also felt a strange urge to remind himself and everyone else that this was still _his_ house, and _he_ would decide who came to live in it and who didn't. 

"Of course, it's up to you really, Sirius," said Arthur Weasley hastily, trying to take the weight of the decision off his wife's shoulders.

"I wouldn't mind at all," said Sirius quite truthfully. "And if you asked them, the children would probably want to come, too."

"But that's what they are!" Mrs Weasley cried. "Children! They're not old enough to decide for themselves! They're not old enough to understand the risk they'd be taking!"

Sirius frowned and opened his mouth to disagree, but Mrs Weasley was not to be stopped. "And Hermione – what about Hermione? Her parents are away at a Muggle Healers' conference in America, we can't send her home now! We promised to take care of her over the holidays!" 

"Well, I don't see how we can take less care of her here than anywhere else," said her husband reasonably. 

Mrs Weasley was still sniffing into her handkerchief, but she seemed to have run out of objections for the moment. "We can't just disappear from The Burrow," she said finally. "What are we to do?" 

"Pretend we'll all go on holiday to Romania, to visit Charlie," Bill suggested practically. 

"We'll have a few days to prepare," said Mr Weasley. "Dumbledore says it's sufficient that we'll have moved in by the time of the next meeting." 

If Mrs Weasley had ever thought that she actually had a choice in this matter, this was where it ended, and she knew it. "Then we'd better go straight home, tell the children and get packing," she said, blew her nose, and put her handkerchief away. 

They all sprang to life now, relieved to see her back to her own practical self.

"I must be off then," said Bill, checking the light again through the dusty windows. "It's almost dark already, I'll be in trouble else."

"I'll see you out," Sirius offered, desperate to get away from the tense atmosphere in the room, where so little of the homeliness of their dinner party now remained.

"Bill," said Sirius quietly when they emerged into the dark hall, and were out of earshot from the kitchen. "Do you think this is going to work?"

"The kids will love it," said Bill lightly. 

"I didn't mean that." 

"I know."

Sirius could hardly see Bill's face in the gloom, but he knew that this time, Bill wasn't grinning. 

"I'm sure it's going to work," Bill said quite firmly.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. Don't worry about it. Mum might disagree with you about Harry, and maybe about a few other things as well, but at the end of the day she's really got everyone's best interests at heart."

"That's what I fear."

"I know," Bill said again. "But believe me, she's quite fond enough of you to allow you some very generous exceptions."

"What do you mean?"

Bill gave a short laugh, and clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "She hasn't asked _you_ to cut _your_ hair yet, has she? If I were you, I'd take that as a good sign."

Teaching the snake on the door knob Bill Weasley's name was a matter of a moment, but Bill had hardly gone when his parents came upstairs, too. The snake quickly learned two more names, and accepted them with a nod. 

"I'm really sorry to leave you with all this," Mrs Weasley said, gesturing over her shoulder at the door to the kitchen from which they had emerged.

"We'll send word when we'll be here," Arthur Weasley said. 

And then all the Weasleys were gone, and Sirius went back downstairs, where Tonks and Lupin were just getting ready to leave as well.

"I feel so bad to just leave like this," Tonks almost echoed Mrs Weasley's words. "I've talked about myself all evening and I haven't heard a single thing about you two. Well, there must be another time." She gave them a smile to share between them. "I'd better get going, too. Not to miss that owl."

"I'll come right with you," said Lupin. "Sirius, you don't mind if I…"

"Looks like I don't have a choice," Sirius replied, trying not to sound bitter. "If Moody says 'as soon as you can make it', you'd better make it soon." 

"I'll try to be back as quickly as I can," Lupin said. "I won't be long."

"Send me an owl if it takes longer." 

"I will. I'll see you soon."

Sirius suddenly wished his friend would stop making promises that he might not be able to keep, and just go. But when the kitchen door closed behind Lupin and Tonks, Sirius felt terribly alone, and terribly useless, with nothing to occupy himself with but a stack of used plates and goblets and pots in the sink. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the silence and the solitude of the place. 

Dumbledore had found something to do for everyone, except for him. But then, Sirius told himself, Dumbledore had probably just been too busy to issue specific instructions for him to do the washing up. He sighed and put the kettle on the stove. 

Overhead, the front door fell shut, and Sirius realised only then that it had taken Lupin and Tonks an awfully long time to simply walk up the stairs, say goodbye and leave the house. His eyes fell on the large bowl of Mrs Weasley's fruit salad, uneaten and abandoned on the table, and Sirius felt a sudden urge to smash it to pieces in the fireplace. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Lupin did not return that night. Nor had he come back or sent word when Sirius woke up on the next morning. 

The kitchen was dank, cold, and empty. Sirius had Mrs Weasley's fruit salad for breakfast, glad after all that it was still there, and sat by the kitchen fire for quite a while afterwards, waiting for an owl to swoop down the chimney any minute. But none came. Finally, he got up and looked around for something to keep himself busy with, but all the dishes had been washed and stored away by Kreacher last night as Sirius had instructed him to before he went to bed, and there was nothing left to do. 

He left the kitchen and went upstairs, wandering from room to room. The silence in the house was ominous, echoing Sirius's inner agitation. He could hear little creatures rustling and scuttling behind the wall panelling. He didn't want to know what exactly they were.

Sirius's restlessness grew with every hour that passed. He returned to the kitchen at regular intervals to check the fireplace for news, for any word of what was happening, any sign that the world outside No. 12, Grimmauld Place existed at all. Finally, Kreacher's grin, clearly visible in the crack between the cupboard door and the wall, and growing wider every time Sirius returned, drove him from the room. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the house-elf had heard every word of what had been discussed the night before, and knew exactly what was nagging his master. Sirius decided to lock Kreacher up in an upstairs bathroom next time anyone from the Order came visiting. _If _any of them would ever come visiting again. It didn't look like it at the moment. 

It was a little early to despair, though, Sirius told himself. They probably wanted to finish first with whatever Moody wanted them to do. 

But whatever it was they were doing, it was taking a very long time. 

By Tuesday morning, after a day spent mostly in the study reading more of what some old and probably long dead wizards and witches had to say on theories of Transfiguration, Sirius was still none the wiser. He wasn't only angry about not being kept up to date with the developments at the Ministry, he was also beginning to worry. It wasn't only Lupin who hadn't stirred – none of them was sending word. There was simply no explanation for this complete silence, other than that something had gone terribly wrong. But it couldn't be, he thought. _Someone_ in the Order would know, and if it concerned Lupin, they would tell him straight away. Unless – unless, like they had done with Harry, they had all decided that it was _better_ for him not to know. Maybe they didn't want to _burden_ him with the knowledge that something dreadful had happened. Maybe they thought he was no better than a fourteen year old boy, who needed to know no more than that he'd better stay at home and let the grown-ups sort out the trouble.

Sirius went to feed Buckbeak around lunchtime, and sat in his usual place on the window sill while the Hippogriff eagerly devoured a small heap of fresh dead rats. He didn't feel much like eating himself, and watching Buckbeak's meal certainly didn't increase his appetite.

"It looks like it will be a while yet before we're off to visit Harry, Beaky," he told the Hippogriff. "I knew it, Harry isn't happy where he is, either. I know what that's like, stuck at home day after day, waiting and waiting…"

Saying it aloud only made it worse. At home. This wasn't home. It might be his house, it might be the house he grew up in, but to Sirius it was the last place on earth that would ever feel like home. He looked out of the window. It was a grey day, the sun hidden behind heavy, low hanging clouds. The square was, as usual, deserted. _Things are moving_, Sirius thought. _But moving without me, away from me, out of my reach.___

"Do you know what it feels like?" he asked, turning back to the Hippogriff. "To have no clue what's going on outside? Harry doesn't even know his friends are near him. He must think we've all forgotten about him." Like they've forgotten about me, Sirius added in his thoughts. It was too painful to say aloud. But had they forgotten about him – or was it rather that they didn't want him to be part of their adventures, whispering behind his back, talking behind closed doors?

Sirius felt a strong desire to hit something, or someone, or to blast something to a thousand pieces with his wand. He looked around the room, but he'd wisely cleared it of all its furnishings, except for the heap of ragged bedclothes on the floor the Hippogriff slept on, and there was nothing left that Buckbeak hadn't ravaged yet at any rate. 

"Oh how I hate all this!" Sirius shouted at the world outside. "I HATE it!"

Buckbeak, alarmed, raised himself on his forelegs and flapped his mighty wings, brushing the walls on either side. The room suddenly looked absurdly small for the large creature. 

"Yes, exactly!" Sirius told him angrily. "You know that, too. That's how it feels!" 

The Hippogriff gave his human companion a steely look out of his golden eyes, as if to warn him that he didn't like to be shouted at.

"Oh all right, I shouldn't be shouting at _you,_" Sirius said, slightly calmer. "I'm going to find someone who deserves it then."

He got up and left the room. He didn't know where exactly he was going or what exactly he was going to do, but when he passed his own old bedroom, he suddenly remembered. He quickly opened the door and stepped inside. The canvas in the frame on the left hand wall was blank.

"Phineas?" Sirius said into the silence. There was no reply. "Phineas? _Phineas__!"__  
  
_

"There's no need to shout," said the familiar silky voice from the empty canvas. "If I didn't feel like talking to you, it wouldn't make me." Phineas Nigellus appeared in his frame, looking down at his great-great-grandson with his usual air of condescension. 

"Phineas, I want to know what's going on," Sirius said bluntly. 

The former Headmaster folded his arms. "And why would you come to _me_ for that?"

"Don't be stupid," Sirius snarled, not in the mood to humour his ancestor. "What else do you sit in Dumbledore's office for all day, if not to hear what's going on? Tell me."

Phineas Nigellus was not impressed. "You should know by now," he said evenly, "that I don't take orders from just anyone, and like it or not, that includes you."

"All right." Sirius sighed, and tried to sound very patient. "I'm not giving you orders. I'm just asking. So what's happening?" 

"Then let me ask back. What makes you think the current Headmaster of Hogwarts has given me the authority to inform you of it?"

"Nothing. Look, I just need to _know_."

"And what if Professor Dumbledore disagrees with that?" Phineas Nigellus was looking very smug now.

Sirius opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Could Nigellus be right? Could it be that Dumbledore was deliberately keeping him in the dark? Sirius felt his hands curl into fists at his sides. "I want to hear that from Dumbledore himself," he said through clenched teeth. 

"I regret to inform you," Nigellus replied smoothly, "that the Headmaster is not in his office at the moment. So I'm afraid you'll have to show a little patience, if you know the meaning of that word, until I can bring you his personal confirmation." Phineas Nigellus leant against the side of his frame, watching Sirius closely, clearly enjoying himself.

It wasn't true, Sirius suddenly realised. Nigellus was playing games with him, he just knew it. The former headmaster probably knew no more about the Order's current activities than Sirius did, he was just enjoying feeling superior. The Blacks had always been good at that. 

"You're lying," Sirius said flatly. 

"I'm warning you, Sirius," said Phineas Nigellus softly, his eyes flashing dangerously behind his self-content smile. "Call me a liar again, and next time I'll think twice before I come and visit this painting."

"Not that I'd care."

"Oh, you would. What would it feel like, your only remaining means of communicating with the outside world gone?" 

Sirius reached for his wand, white with anger. 

"Now, now," Nigellus said, feigning mild indignation. "Attacking an innocent painting! I notice with regret that you're lately developing an unfortunate habit of picking quarrels with the portraits in this house."

"That's because the portraits in this house have an unfortunate habit of making my life hell!"Sirius snapped back.

"Is that a way to talk about your ancestors?"

"It's better than they deserve."

The two wizards stood glaring at each other for a moment, then Phineas Nigellus rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Have you finished venting your anger on an innocent bystander now, or is there anything else?" he asked in a very bored voice. "Because it's not my fault your precious friends aren't sharing all their precious little secrets with you, you know." Phineas watched the blow hit home with obvious relish, stroking his pointed black beard. 

Sirius's fingers tightened around the handle of his wand inside his robes. "No, I haven't finished," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I still want to know what's going on at the Ministry, and what Alastor Moody and Remus Lupin are up to, and why nobody's sending word."

Phineas Nigellus raised an eyebrow.

_"Please,"_ Sirius added with a great effort.

"Ah, that's better." Nigellus continued to stroke his beard. "And that's indeed interesting news. The Ministry, is it? Looks like Mad-Eye and your little werewolf friend are sticking their noses, or what remains of them, into affairs a few sizes to big for them, doesn't it?"

"So you don't know." It was a statement rather than a question. "You don't know _anything."_

"Well, that would be exaggerating," said Nigellus modestly. "But yes, this is all news to me." His smile was now easily broad enough to rival Kreacher's. "You're right, I have no idea what you're talking about. I just like to hear you plead."

Sirius turned around, tearing the moth-eaten carpet under his heel, and banged the door shut behind him, making the ornate frame rattle on the wall. I was wrong, Sirius thought disgustedly as he stomped down the stairs back to the kitchen. He is much, much worse than the average Slytherin. 

Sirius was still so deep in his gloomy thoughts that at first he didn't even notice who was waiting for him on the kitchen table in front of the fireplace, until she hooted softly. It was Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, with a letter tied to her leg. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"Hedwig!" In three long strides, Sirius crossed to the table, and untied the letter she had brought. He opened it eagerly, and began to read, stroking the faithful owl's white feathers absent-mindedly with his left hand. 

To his surprise, the letter wasn't from Harry, but in a very neat and tidy handwriting Sirius had never seen before. 

_"Dear Snuffles,"_ it read, _"Hedwig arrived here last night, but as we've still got Pig, we thought we'd send her on to you, in case you've got a message for her owner. Bill told us that people liked your story, and we're really happy about it for you. Fred and George keep brandishing their new Apparating licences under everyone's nose. They're still popping up all over the place just to show off, you'd think they're getting paid for it. Mrs W. says prepare for an invasion soon. We really hope it won't be too bad for you. Best wishes." _

The letter was signed, as neatly as it was written, _"Hermione"_, and underneath there was an untidy scrawl that was only just discernible as _"and Ron"_ if you knew what to look for. 

Prepare for an invasion, Sirius thought, smiling to himself. He had never met Ron's and Bill's other brothers and sister, but if Ron and Bill were anything to go by, it would be the most cheerful and welcome invasion of his house that he could imagine. _"We really hope it won't be too bad for you,"_ honestly, what were they thinking? What could possibly be better? 

_Better,_ the familiar little voice said in Sirius's head, _would be a letter that actually contained some real information._ This one didn't even say when they'd be arriving, nor did it say anything about the reason why the Weasley family were moving into Headquarters in the first place. Sirius felt his spirits sink. It was very nice of his young friends to write to him, it was exactly what Hermione would do, but Fred and George passing their Apparation test was not really the kind of news he'd been waiting for.

But then – was it a coincidence that Hedwig had turned up at exactly the moment when he desperately needed to get in touch with his friends in the world outside? He picked up the letter again. _"Hedwig arrived here last night, but as we've still got Pig, we thought we'd send her on to you."_ Sirius was thankful to Pig, who- or whatever he was, for leaving Hedwig free to carry his own post. He looked thoughtfully at the snowy owl, which was still hooting softly. What if he just sent her out to Lupin, or to Moody, or Tonks, or anyone, and ask for news? Maybe that was exactly why the Weasleys had sent her to him in the first place? 

He turned back to the letter. "_In case you've got a message for her owner_," it read. It didn't say "in case you've got a message for _anyone_". And they were right, Sirius thought resignedly. Hedwig was a rare kind of owl, she attracted a great deal of attention, and and many people knew she was Harry's. Whatever message she'd be carrying would inevitably be linked to Harry if it fell into the wrong hands. Sirius couldn't risk that – he might disagree with Molly Weasley that underage wizards like Harry and her own children weren't able to understand what involvement in the Order meant, but as long as they hadn't even been given the chance to understand, he had no right to drag Harry into this.  You're his godfather, for heaven's sake, Sirius told himself. It's your duty to keep Harry out of trouble, not to land him in more. 

He went to find ink and parchment, sat down at the table, swept his long hair out of his eyes and began to write. 

_"Dear Harry,"_ he wrote, and paused again. His godson's face was still fresh in his mind. The last time he had seen him, less than a month ago, Harry had been in bed in the hospital wing at school, his face as white as the sheets, his lightning-bolt shaped scar burning on his forehead, and his eyes, Lily's eyes, so blank and empty with shock it had hurt Sirius's heart. He had looked so young then, so young and vulnerable, much younger than a boy of fourteen. He had escaped another confrontation with Voldemort, escaped alive – but he had certainly not escaped unscathed. Nobody who ever strayed across Voldemort's path escaped unscathed. And Harry hadn't just accidentally strayed across Voldemort's path either – the one who had, Harry's fellow student, had been killed in a mere afterthought. Harry had faced Voldemort with his wand in his hand like a grown man, rather than a boy of fourteen. 

And there had always been more to Harry than met the eye, Sirius remembered. He recalled the first time he had seen Harry again since he'd been a baby in Lily Potter's arms, a night in June last year, in the Shrieking Shack on the edge of Hogsmeade. It had been an absurd scene: Sirius himself filthy and ragged after being on the run for months, certainly not a sight to invite anyone's trust or sympathy; Ron with his broken leg (Sirius realised guiltily that he'd never properly apologised for that) and the rat that was Peter Pettigrew, squeaking and squirming in Ron's hands; Hermione with her big eyes wide in shock; and Harry, thirteen-year-old Harry, who had had nothing on his mind but his parents, and his burning desire for revenge on those that had betrayed and killed them. Thirteen year old Harry, who hadn't hesitated to turn his wand against the one he thought responsible for it, with the intention of no less than killing, and who, only minutes later, hadn't hesitated either to turn his wand against one of his own teachers to save Sirius from the Dementors. 

He had been an amazing boy even at thirteen, truly his parents' son, and Sirius had no doubt that this wouldn't be any different at almost fifteen, whatever was to come. At fifteen, you were no longer a child. Sirius himself had not been much older than fifteen when he had finally packed his stuff and run away from the home he hated, to live the life he wanted and not the life others had devised for him. 

_But look where it all ended_, he suddenly thought bitterly. He was back where he'd started, and whatever else had happened in the meantime was so far from the life he had wanted that he felt like crying. 

Sirius stared into the fire for a while, his eyes burning dryly, and tried to force his thoughts to go back to Harry, Harry who had been left alone with the memory of the events at the end of the Triwizard Tournament just as he, Sirius, was left alone here with his own dark memories. Both of them trapped in a house they hated, and forced to call it home, in the worst possible company and with no idea what was going on outside. 

Sirius hoped fervently that Harry wouldn't take all of this too badly, and wouldn't get any crazy ideas of running away from there. Running wasn't really an option this time, neither for Harry nor for Sirius. There was someone out there just waiting for Harry to leave the place where he was protected, and even if he left it only for a minute, it might be for one minute too long.

Sirius sighed. He couldn't do much from the distance, but he had at least to try to make sure that Harry didn't do anything stupid. 

_"Dear Harry,"_ he had written, and now continued, _"I haven't heard from you in a while, I hope you're all right. Don't do the Muggles the favour of letting them make you feel bad, they're not worth it."_ Easier said than done, he knew. He had never met Harry's Muggle family, but by all accounts they weren't easy to ignore, let alone get along with. 

_"Be careful and don't do anything rash," _he added, and wondered for a moment whether he was talking to Harry or to himself there, but he left it in anyway. It wouldn't do either of them any harm to be reminded of it now and again.

Sirius thought of what he'd written in his last letter, and he wanted to say something about last Friday night, he wanted to share the joy and relief the meeting of the Order and their reaction to his story had given him, but he couldn't safely put that in a letter in a way that would make Harry understand. He almost regretted he had ever mentioned it at all. Whatever he might say now would just raise more questions, questions that he wouldn't be able to answer until he and Harry met again face to face, and who knew when that would be. 

_"I wish I could tell you more, but at the moment, I just can't,"_ he continued, knowing this was even worse than his previous letter. _"I know this must be frustrating for you,"_ he added, _"but we must be careful. It won't be like this forever. Until then, just keep your nose clean and everything will be OK."_

Hedwig hooted again as if to remind him that she was waiting, so Sirius signed the letter as Snuffles and rolled it up. She stuck out her leg, eager to be on her way again, hooted once more, and took off through the fireplace, carefully avoiding the flames. And again, Sirius was left alone, but feeling considerably better now than he had felt in the morning. 

Looking forward to the Weasleys' arrival, he took a look at the several bedrooms they would occupy. There had to be one for Molly and Arthur, and three more for the children still living with the family. None of the rooms upstairs was big enough for more than two persons to sleep in, not with his mother's bedroom occupied by a Hippogriff and the big drawing room on the first floor infested with doxies. But they'd divide up nicely. Fred and George could have a room on the third floor. That should teach them to remember how to walk up and down the stairs like sensible persons instead of Apparating every few feet, now that the house had been made Apparation-proof.  Hermione and Ron's younger sister could share the small room next door that had been Sirius's brother's bedroom years ago. And Ron could stay in his own old room on the second floor, and share with Percy. He just needed to put another bed in there, but there'd be enough space. 

_Strange,_ Sirius thought for a moment. Percy, the oldest of the Weasley brothers still living at home, had already left school, or so Ron had told him last year. He was of age, and he even worked in the Ministry. And yet he hadn't come to the Order's meeting with his parents and Bill. Maybe he'd just been looking after the younger children at home. Or maybe – Sirius remembered how Dumbledore had urged everyone to consider well how far they wanted to be involved – he hadn't made up his mind yet how active he wanted to be in the Order. But his absence had been puzzling. Percy had worked in Barty Crouch's department last year, and admired his boss greatly, Ron had said. What ever else may be said about Barty Crouch senior, he had always been a fervent enemy of Voldemort and his supporters, and certainly someone as devoted to him as Percy had appeared to be would share these beliefs? Then why had nobody even mentioned his name yet? But it didn't matter now. He could still ask him when he arrived with his family. 

Sirius went to bed early, his thoughts on life in Grimmauld Place with the young Weasleys, and hoped that the 'soon' in Hermione's letter was a 'soon' in the definition of Alastor Moody. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

But as Sirius was to find out when he woke up, 'soon' had not meant 'tomorrow morning'. The house was as empty and quiet as on the day before. No Lupin, no letter, nothing but Kreacher rummaging around in the pantry looking for food, and a solitary ray of sunshine that fell through one of the high kitchen windows and illuminated the empty fireplace as if to make sure that Sirius didn't miss the fact that there was no news, and no comfort to be had. It didn't surprise him any longer. He had almost expected it. 

Sirius gave up on the day before it had even properly started. He spent most of it curled up on his sofa in the study in the form of the black dog, finding ease in the absence of complex thoughts, and drifting in and out of sleep. It was a dreamless sleep that reflected the uneventful waking moments of the day, but he didn't mind. He didn't care about very much any longer. 

Late in the afternoon, his sensitive dog's ears picked up the sound of the wrought-iron gate outside the front door creaking on its hinges. He opened his eyes and raised his head. He could hear light footsteps ascending the worn stone steps. Sirius transformed back into his human self, but he didn't bother to get up and check from the window if it really was Lupin. Lupin hadn't been in a hurry to get back, so Sirius wouldn't be in a hurry to greet him and hear his news, either. 

The front door opened and closed again, and he heard the same light footsteps cross the hall. They descended to the kitchen, but a minute or two later, they were back, and began to climb the stairs. Sirius could hear them draw closer, first landing, second landing, and then they stopped right outside his door. There was a very soft knock. _At least he's got a guilty conscience_, Sirius thought. 

He opened his mouth for a very reproachful "Where have you been?", but the door didn't open.

"Sirius?" a voice asked hesitantly, almost timidly, and it was definitely not Lupin's.

Sirius sat up with a start. "Come in," he called, cleared his throat, and called again, this time audibly. 

The door opened, and it was Tonks who looked into the room. "I'm sorry I'm disturbing you," she said, and attempted a little smile. 

"You're not," he replied, swung his legs down from the sofa and sat up properly. He wanted to add something sarcastic, something that would make her realise that he'd been waiting desperately for this kind of disturbance for three days, but the words got stuck in his throat. 

Tonks didn't look exactly well. Her hair was black and curly today, which accounted for her in contrast unnaturally pale face, but not for the dark hollows under her eyes. She came into the room and closed the door.

"Well?" Sirius finally asked rather lamely. "What's going on?"

"A lot," said Tonks. "That's why I'm here. Remus Lupin asked me to, because – "

The name of his friend brought back all the frustration of the last few days. 

" – because he's too _busy_ to even send an owl to say that he's still alive?" Sirius asked aggressively. 

"No," said Tonks wearily, and gave him a very unhappy look. 

Sirius's heart missed a beat. "What's wrong with him?" he asked quickly.

"Nothing, he was just too tired. To tell the truth, he was near a complete collapse, so Moody finally sent him home to sleep." 

"Tonks," Sirius said impatiently, "sit down and tell me what's going on, for heaven's sake!" 

Tonks hesitated for a moment, then came over to lean against the heavy writing desk, facing Sirius on his sofa. "I don't know where to start," she said with a sigh. "It's _weird. _Unreal."

"_What_ is weird?"

"We're standing guard at the Ministry." 

"You're what?"

"We're standing guard at the Ministry."

"Who, the Aurors?"

"No, the Order."

"The Ministry asked the Order to guard the place?" Sirius's thoughts were racing. How did this fit in with Dumbledore's "extreme caution and extreme secrecy"? It couldn't be that bad yet, that the Ministry had to turn to the Order for help against Voldemort? 

"No, they don't know about it," Tonks was saying.

"What do you mean, you're secretly guarding the Ministry?" This was getting crazier by the minute. Since when had the Ministry not been able to ensure the security of its own buildings? And if they weren't, why weren't they supposed to know that someone else was doing the job for them?

"Just the Department of Mysteries." 

_"Why?"_

"I don't really know," said Tonks wearily.

Sirius sighed in frustration. Were they all turning into Arthur Weasleys, spreading their hands and professing complete ignorance? "Listen," he said, "can you just begin at the beginning or something, so I can get my head around why a Ministry Auror has to guard a Ministry Department without the Ministry knowing about it?" He had sounded angrier than he had meant to. Tonks winced, and he was immediately sorry.

"I'm trying to," she said tiredly. "It's all totally crazy. I can't quite believe it myself." She sighed again. It suddenly struck Sirius just how exhausted she was. She looked as if she wasn't very far from a complete collapse herself. 

"Come here," he said, and moved to make room for her on the sofa. Tonks came to sit next to him, drawing up her feet and propping herself up on her elbow.

"Monday morning," she began at the beginning, "I went to Moody's place before work just like he'd said to. Kingsley and Arthur came, too. Moody explained that – that You Know Who and his followers were interested in the Department of Mysteries, and that we had to keep them from getting in there." 

"How did he know?"

"Dumbledore told him."

"Yes, but how did Dumbledore know?" 

"I have no idea. Moody knew no more than Arthur on Sunday night, only that Dumbledore had heard it from both sides, whatever that meant."

"And what exactly are they after?" 

"I don't know, honestly. Neither did Moody."

"How are you supposed to guard something if you don't know what it is?"

"That's why we're guarding the whole Department."

"Just you Ministry people?"

"No, Moody, too, and Lupin, and sometimes Professor McGonagall. We're doing it two together, in shifts of six hours." 

"What, day and night?" At least this accounted for the dark hollows under her eyes, and Lupin's near collapse. Right after the full moon, four days in a row without proper sleep was nothing short of inhuman. 

"So you're patrolling the Department of Mysteries?"

"No," Tonks explained patiently, "the Department itself is sealed to all except those who work there, and the Minister himself. It's a little strange – nobody really knows what the people in there are up to. They're not allowed to talk about it, or at least they never do. That's why we call them Unspeakables. Strange blokes. Anyway nobody except them knows what the Department looks like, what's in there, and how to get in. So we just sit by the entrance and watch out for anything odd." 

"What, with the whole Ministry buzzing around?" Tonks was right, this _was_ unreal. Dumbledore's mistrust of the Ministry must run deeper than Sirius had ever imagined, if he found it necessary to station his own guards right inside it, even in broad daylight.

"We're under Moody's Invisibility Cloak, of course," Tonks was saying. "And the Department is on the lowest level, there's not much traffic down there. We just sit by the wall and try not to make any noise or fall asleep." She made it sound quite simple, but her strained, pale face betrayed her.

"But nothing has happened so far?" 

"Nothing at all." 

"And Dumbledore still wants two of you to sit there day and night?" 

"He thinks there's an imminent danger that someone might try and break into the Department, and we've got to be there to stop them." 

Sirius got to his feet and started pacing up and down restlessly. "And what if Voldemort -" Tonks winced at the name "- comes swooping down on you with a dozen Death Eaters at his back in the middle of the night?" Sirius didn't mean to sound funny. The idea was sickening. What did Dumbledore think two members of the Order, even two Aurors, could do against such a force? Why did he place them in the line of fire like that, if they'd never stand a chance when it came to it? 

"Dumbledore reckons they won't dare, right under the nose of the Minister himself. He reckons they'll be trying to get in by stealth." Sirius was relieved, but only until Tonks continued, "He says the far greater danger is being caught by someone from the Ministry itself." Tonks said it as if she was talking about alien enemies, not her own colleagues. "They're merciless when it comes to trespassing. With Fudge getting more paranoid by the day, now more than ever. That's why Moody wanted to see us first, to make sure the Order is perfectly acquainted with the building, the whole structure and organization of it, the working hours and all that. He also wants us, the Ministry people I mean, to do as many shifts as we can – we could always come up with some excuse for being there if we're seen." Tonks suddenly shuddered as if she was cold, and yawned.

"How do you do that, six hour shifts and your normal work?" 

"With little sleep," Tonks said, and blushed. "Last night, Remus had to shake me awake twice. And _he_ was doing the shifts before me and after me as well."

Sirius stopped by the window and stared out of it onto the quiet square below. He pitied his friend, and Tonks too, for wearing themselves out like that for the Order, but at Tonks's last words, he had felt a fierce stab of jealousy. It seemed incredibly unfair that Tonks should be sitting snug under an Invisibility Cloak with Remus Lupin, wands at the ready and the prospect of a decent duel at hand, while he was stuck here in Grimmauld Place with nothing to do. By rights, her place should have been his. 

"And how long is it going to go on like that?" he asked, turning back to her, more annoyed than sympathetic. 

"Not long, I hope," Tonks said. "Dumbledore will explain it all to the Order on Thursday, there'll probably be more volunteers then." 

"I'll volunteer," Sirius said at once.

"You – oh." Tonks was rather taken aback. "I don't think – "

"You don't think I'm up to it, do you?" 

Tonks frowned at him. "Of course you'd be," she said irritably. "But Dumbledore wouldn't – " 

"I know he wouldn't," Sirius interrupted her sarcastically. "He'd rather have you and Lupin and the others die of sleep deprivation and exhaustion, wouldn't he?"

"Don't be silly, it's not that bad." She was making a valiant effort to sound convincing. 

"Looks like it is, if Lupin can't even write a single line to me."

"It's not that," said Tonks impatiently. "Do you really think Moody would have let Remus put _any _of this in a _letter_, even if he had had a quiet moment to write?"

"Then why didn't he let me know in some other way what was going on? At least that he was OK?" 

"I told you, that's why I'm here." 

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. _Yes, after three days_, Sirius thought, but he didn't say it. 

"It's been really stressful," said Tonks. "For all of us." 

With that, Sirius privately agreed. He came back to the sofa and slumped down on it again. "So why can't I come and join you?" 

Tonks looked at him unhappily, but made no answer.

"Nobody would see me," he said quickly. "Under the Invisibility Cloak, nobody would know it's me. It sounds like the perfect job for me. I'm good at hiding."

But Tonks was shaking her head vehemently. "Don't you understand?" She was beginning to sound rather exasperated. "It's extremely dangerous! This is not about a pleasant night time stroll in a quiet Muggle neighbourhood, Sirius. We're in the heart of the enemy's territory. The lion's den. You sneeze, and you've had it!" 

"I won't sneeze." 

"Don't be _stupid!"_ Tonks exclaimed. "What do you think will happen when they catch _you _in the Ministry, Sirius? Do you think you'd stand a chance? Do you think they'd listen? Not even Kingsley Shacklebolt could save you then, even if he got a chance to try. You'd be dead, or worse, within moments." She looked at him almost pleadingly, and suddenly reached out and took his hand. "It would be suicide," she said in a very small voice. "Suicide."

Sirius had been about to say 'so what?', but something in the way her voice had almost failed her at her last words stopped him. Her tired eyes, sea-green today, were glistening. She cared, he suddenly realised. She cared whether he lived or died. After so many years of getting used to people wishing him dead, the idea positively overwhelmed him. He didn't know what to say. He became aware that she was still holding his hand, and his was shaking rather badly. Very slowly and carefully, he withdrew his hand from hers. 

"All right then," he said quietly. "Never mind. I hope you find enough volunteers tomorrow." He found it easy to say now. He was saying it to make Tonks happy, to stop her crying and worrying about him, rather than because he knew he wouldn't be allowed to go anyway - and it felt so much better this way.

"Are you OK?" he asked awkwardly.

Tonks wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and tried to smile. "It's just the stress," she said. "I'll be all right in a minute."

They sat together in silence for rather more than a minute. 

"So," Sirius suggested tentatively after a while, "do you want to take a nap, or eat something, or - ?"

"Something to eat would be great," Tonks said bravely. "I've got to be back at six for my next shift." 


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Sirius couldn't tell whether he felt better or worse after Tonks's short visit. Every time he thought of his friends, stationed in a Ministry corridor where the smallest sound or movement might betray them, expecting to be attacked by Voldemort's followers or discovered by Ministry employees any moment, he felt something tighten in his chest that made it hard to breathe. 

But it was not only the frustration of not being able to share what he still thought of as their adventures. He also felt guilty now – guilty to be sitting safely at home with ample time on his hands to eat and sleep as much as he wanted, while they hardly allowed themselves the time for either. Tonks had been right, it _was_ crazy. But then, Albus Dumbledore never did anything crazy without a good reason. 

All the same, his worries must have followed him into his sleep, and they startled him out of it just after midnight, when they'd be changing shifts. Sirius sank back into a fitful sleep after a while, but woke again shortly before six, when the new morning shift would relieve the old one. The Aurors and Arthur Weasley would have to go to work soon, so it was probably Moody's and Lupin's turn again now. Sirius tried to imagine what it must be like to sit under an Invisibility Cloak with a twitchy Mad-Eye Moody who saw a Death Eater behind every door and around every corner. He hoped that Moody had at least let Lupin get a full night's sleep before they took over again.

Sirius found it impossible to go back to sleep now. Outside his window, a new summer day was dawning, the first timid rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains, promising a bright and warm day. And bright it might well be, Sirius remembered. Today at the latest was when the Weasleys were to move in. 

And sure enough they did.

Sirius saw them arrive from his usual place at the window of Buckbeak's room. Around noon, a short, plump woman and three children at her back, a boy and two girls who were dragging heavy trunks behind them, emerged onto the square from the street that led to the main road and the underground station. The Weasleys were immediately recognisable by their flaming red hair that shone like beacons in the sunlight. They arrived in front of number twelve, Mrs Weasley looking around anxiously and checking her watch.

Ron, seeming even taller than Sirius remembered him, had put his owl cage down and was now gazing at the houses around him with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. Sirius raised a hand in greeting, but then he realised that Ron couldn't see number twelve at all. 

Hermione, who had brought a large wicker basket with her, had set it down on top of her trunk and seemed to be speaking to it. The other girl sank down on her own trunk, panting and wiping her forehead with the sleeve of her denim jacket. She must be Ginny, the youngest of the Weasley children. 

Mrs Weasley appeared to say something to the three others, shaking her head in disapproval. Then suddenly, she gave a start and turned around to the unkempt patch of lawn in the middle of the square. Sirius followed her gaze. Two more red-headed boys had appeared on the grass from out of nowhere, each of them clutching a handle of their own trunks, and grinning broadly. They were completely identical – Sirius decided he wouldn't even start guessing who was Fred and who was George. 

Mrs Weasley beckoned them quickly over to where the rest of the little party was waiting, and took a small piece of parchment from her handbag. They gathered around her in a circle, and a moment later turned towards the house again. There was the same expression of complete astonishment on all their faces as they stared straight ahead at number twelve. Sirius, who knew what they were seeing, smiled to himself, and went downstairs to meet them. 

When he arrived in the hall, Mrs Weasley had already opened the door, and they were just entering, the girls in front, carrying a trunk between them. 

  
"Come on, be quick," he heard Mrs Weasley say. "Get inside, and don't make any noise in the hall, do you hear? Right, give me the cage, Ron… no, don't let him out yet, Hermione – "

Sirius came forward to greet them and help them with the luggage when suddenly, a large form hurled itself at him from the direction of the door. "Oh no!" he heard Hermione's exasperated voice, and then the thing was on him. Caught off his guard, Sirius stumbled at the impact, fell backwards and found himself sitting on the lowest step of the stairs, clutching the thing that had just jumped at him tightly in his arms. It felt like a giant ginger fur ball. 

"Hello, Crookshanks," he said, and disentangled himself from the cat, which was now trying to curl up on his lap, purring happily. "Hello, Hermione. Hello, Ron. Nice to see you again." 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Hermione cried, but was silenced by a sharp hiss from Mrs Weasley. 

"Sssh! No noise in the entrance hall!"

Hermione shut up quickly, and silently held out her arms for her cat. Sirius got up and handed a very unwilling Crookshanks, who was clinging to the front of his robes with his claws, back to his owner. 

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place," he said to her and the group of young Weasleys. "Is there anything else you want to spring on me, or was that all?" 

Ron grinned, but his brothers and sister just stood staring at Sirius with wide eyes. 

"These are my other children, Sirius," Mrs Weasley said unnecessarily. "This is Fred, and this is George." The twins nodded simultaneously, and Sirius was no wiser than before.   
  
"I'm Ginny," Ron's sister piped up, and even attempted a timid smile.

"It's great to meet you all," he said again, looked from one to the other, counted heads, and suddenly realised. "And where's – " He broke off, catching the look on Hermione's face. She had raised her eyebrows very quickly and gave a hasty little shake of her head. "Where's your father?" he finished rather lamely. "At work, I suppose?"

"Of course," Mrs Weasley replied. "He'll join us here tonight." She seemed not to have noticed anything odd about his question. 

Sirius looked at Hermione, frowning, but she shook her head again, looking down at her shoes now. "All right," he said. "So let's get you and your stuff upstairs to your rooms." He pointed his wand at Ron's trunk, which was nearest. _"Locomotor _trunk." 

_"Locomotor _trunk,_"_ the twins repeated in one voice, and both their trunks were lifted from the ground, hovered on the spot for a moment, and then started racing each other for the stairs.

"Don't!" Mrs Weasley hissed exasperatedly as Fred and George tore after them, clearly taking advantage of the fact that the situation didn't allow their mother to shout at them. They could hear the trunks bumping into each other on their way up the narrow stairs. 

"Honestly!" 

"Never mind," said Sirius. As long as the twins didn't make too much noise, there was no point in letting Mrs Weasley wake up Mrs Black with her scolding, and if they did, she'd wake up anyway. "Wait for us on the second landing," he called after the twins, and then followed them at a more reasonable pace, Ron's trunk floating along in front of him. Ron, Hermione and Ginny brought up the rear.

Mrs Weasley sighed. "Lunch is in an hour," she hissed after them in a very sharp whisper, and went downstairs to the kitchen. 

On the second landing, Fred and George were waiting for the others with apologetic grins on their faces.

"Who won?" Sirius asked.

"Me," said whoever of the twins he was, and Sirius acknowledged the pointlessness of the question. He pushed the door to his own old bedroom open with his elbow. "This is going to be yours," he said to Ron, directing his trunk inside and settling it down at the foot of the bed. "If the portrait over there comes visiting, don't mind him if he's rude. He can't help it, it runs in the family." 

Ron frowned a little, but went inside, carrying the cage with the little owl that had once been a present from Sirius. "Can I let Pig out?" he asked.

"Sure," said Sirius, and quietly wondered why he hadn't realised straight away who the 'Pig' in the letter had been. But then, it _was_ a rather unlikely name for a tiny owl. 

"The rest of us go up to the third floor," he told the others, and Fred and George waved their wands at their trunks again and proceeded upstairs. Sirius showed them the room they were to occupy, told them not to touch anything for all the good it would do, and finally opened the door to the small room for the girls. 

His brother's old bedroom, very unlike his own, was still stuffed with things that had once belonged to Regulus. There was a shelf full of books, mostly schoolbooks, the cupboards were still full of robes, and his brother's old school trunk stood under the window as if he'd arrived home from Hogwarts only yesterday. It looked very much as if it was Sirius who had been dead for fifteen years, while Regulus only seemed to have gone out for the moment and was expected back home at any time. 

Hermione sat down on one of the beds. "It's – it's very nice," she said politely, looking around the dusty room. 

"It's a little crowded," said Sirius apologetically. "You'll just have to live out of your trunks for the moment, we'll clear all this old stuff out soon. Wait, maybe this is empty." He squatted down on his heels next to his brother's trunk and tried to open it. It wasn't locked, but the metal catches were so corroded they wouldn't open. 

"Sirius," Hermione's voice behind his back asked suddenly, "who is Regulus Black?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Sirius turned around slowly. Hermione was still sitting on the bed with Crookshanks in her arms, staring at the dusty trunk that looked so very much like her own. Stencilled on the side of it, clearly visible from her place, was the name of his brother.

"My brother," Sirius said curtly, and turned his back on her again.

"You have a _brother?"_ The left catch opened with an ugly sound of metal scraping on metal. "Where is he, then? What does he do?" 

Sirius was not sure he wanted to talk about this. "Not much," he said over his shoulder. "He's been dead for fifteen years."

Hermione gasped. "I'm very sorry," she said after a pause.

"Well, I'm not, so never mind." The second catch gave way with a similar screech. Sirius waited for another gasp, but when it didn't come, he turned back to the girls. They were both staring at him with wide eyes. 

Hermione shook her head as if she had misheard something. "How – how do you mean?"

"Just what I said," Sirius said, and shrugged. "I'm not sorry, so you needn't be, either." 

"But – but he was your _brother!" _Hermione sounded shocked. 

Sirius wished she'd stop. "Look, maybe he was my brother," he said harshly, "but most of all he was a big idiot who had it coming to him. You don't get to choose who you're related to, so you don't have to bawl your eyes out over what they do with their own lives, do you?"

"Stop it!" Ginny Weasley suddenly hissed at him. She was standing by the door, her fists clenched at her sides, very white in the face. When Sirius got up, frowning at her, she took a step back as if she feared an attack, but looked up at him defiantly. Her eyes were bright with tears, and the corners of her mouth were twitching. 

"She's right," Hermione said quietly from the bed. "Don't say things like that, Sirius." 

He had been about to reply 'but it's true', when Ron Weasley poked his red head around the door. "Who's shouting?" he asked, and came into the room. "I'm bored. Why am I the only one who gets a bedroom to himself?"

"That's what I was going to ask _you_," Sirius replied, glad to change the subject. "So where's Percy?" He turned back to Hermione, remembering that she still owed him an explanation for her silent warning downstairs. "And why didn't you want me to ask?"

The young Weasleys and Hermione exchanged some very eloquent looks. Ron frowned at Ginny's near tears, Ginny sniffed and looked away, Hermione shook her head, Ron shrugged, she raised her eyebrows, and he said, "He isn't coming." 

"I noticed that. Why not?"

Hermione sighed. "Close the door, Ron," she said. 

Ginny sat down on the bed next to Hermione, stroking Crookshanks's ginger fur. "You explain," she said to Hermione in a small voice. 

"No, let Ron explain." 

Ron leant against the inside of the door and put his hands in his pockets. "It's kinda complicated," he said.

That much was obvious. Sirius went back to the window, sat down on his brother's old trunk, put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. "Go on," he said. Crookshanks leapt down from the bed and came to rub his head against Sirius's knee.

"Percy has moved out," said Ron. 

"And that's all?" Sirius asked, guessing that it wasn't. "Surely you're allowed to do that when you're almost twenty, and earning your own money?"

"It's _not _all," Hermione explained quietly. "It was – it was rather abrupt. He more ran away from home, really."

"After a terrible row with Dad," Ron added. 

"He said he didn't want to belong to the family any more," Ginny said thickly. 

"And then he just packed a bag and went," Hermione concluded. 

Sirius looked down at his hands and sighed. It sounded so familiar. He could see it clearly in his mind's eye, an angry young man finally shouting the suppressed fury and frustration of years into the faces of those that he could no longer think of as his father and mother, and then thundering down the stairs, slamming the door shut behind him with the full force of his rage, and feeling free, truly free, for the first time in his life. He guessed he knew exactly how Percy must have felt, and yet, hearing it from the point of view of those staying behind made Sirius quite unsure who was in the right, and who wasn't.

"Well, if he really didn't feel at home there any more, I suppose it's better for him the way it is now," he said slowly. "It's quite normal really, at some point you want to live your own life …"

"It's not that," Ron said. "You should have heard him, it was awful. He shouted things at Dad… things about how Dad was standing in the way of his Ministry career, about how he was endangering Percy's future." 

Sirius frowned. "How's that?" he asked. "What's your dad got against Percy's Ministry career?" He couldn't imagine Arthur Weasley being anything but proud of his son. He was surely doing his best to support Percy in his job?  

"Percy's been under a lot of strain recently," Hermione explained. "There was an enquiry about the death of Barty Crouch senior, and Percy was questioned and everything, it really didn't look good for him. And then, on Monday, Percy came home from work and said that the enquiry was finished and that he had been promoted."

"He'd _what?"_

"He'd been promoted," Hermione repeated. "To be the Minister's junior under-something. Some quite prestigious position in Fudge's own office."

"And Dad wasn't happy about that at all," Ginny continued. "Said that Percy had better think well about it, and that he'd maybe better stay in the department where he was and keep his head down for a while until things had settled down. Percy deflated like a punctured balloon." 

Nobody laughed. 

"And then he said all those things about how Mr Weasley being at the Ministry was more of a hindrance than a help for him," Hermione went on. 

"And he didn't put it as nicely as that," said Ron darkly. "That was when the shouting really started. Mum sent us all upstairs at that point – "

" – but Fred and George had their Extendable Ears ready and we heard the rest of it, too," Ginny concluded. 

"Extendable what?" Sirius asked. 

Hermione gave Ginny a look that was somewhere between reproachful and alarmed, but Ginny shrugged.  

"Extendable Ears," said Ron. "You know, Fred and George create lots of stuff like that, they want to start a joke shop when they leave school… Extendable Ears go down stairs and through corridors and under doors and everywhere, and you can listen in on conversations with them."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. 

"We know it wasn't right," Hermione said very quickly.

  
"That's not what I was thinking," Sirius said. "But go on."

"It went from bad to worse," Hermione continued. "Percy said all that about his career and that Mr Weasley wasn't – wasn't helping him enough." She looked uneasily at Ron. "And then he said that he was proud to be offered to work so closely with the Minister for Magic himself, and that it was the Minister who decided where the wizarding world was going, not Dumbledore, and that – that everyone in the Ministry who didn't agree – "

" – deserved to be sacked," Ginny said flatly. "That's what he said."

 "How did Dumbledore come into it?" Sirius asked.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "Does it matter?" 

"I think it does," Hermione said, frowning. "But I can't remember either. Sorry." 

"Never mind," said Sirius. "What did your dad say to that?"

"Dad said Percy wasn't going to speak ill of Albus Dumbledore," said Ron, "and said it very loudly, too. And then Percy shouted back that Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he – Percy – knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry, and if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family any more."

"And that was the point when he stormed out of the kitchen, packed his things and left." said Hermione.

"Without another word," Ginny added sadly. 

Sirius's mind was racing now. A disagreement between father and son about the son's chosen career was nothing unusual. It might be unpleasant, but it was nothing to worry about. But that this disagreement should have turned into accusations of disloyalty, even treason, was extremely disquieting. 

"Hang on," Sirius asked Ron, "is that exactly what he said, that Dumbledore's heading for trouble, and that your mum and dad will go down with him if they turn against the Ministry?"

"Yep. That's what he said. And loud enough to hear it even without Extendable Ears."

"He said that he wanted no part in them becoming traitors to the Ministry?" 

Ron nodded. 

"'Traitors' is a strong word."

Ron shrugged. "It's what he said."

"What are you thinking, Sirius?" asked Hermione.

"I was wondering what, or who, gave Percy the idea to accuse his own parents of treason, just because they advised him against accepting a job in Fudge's own office," he said slowly. He could hear Dumbledore's voice in his mind. _You might find that there are some who are not to be trusted – among your own friends, too, and maybe even among your closest family. _Sirius fervently hoped that Mr and Mrs Weasley had taken this to heart, even at the family's dinner table. 

"Where's Percy now?" he asked the three others.

  
"We don't know," Ginny said. "We think he's gone to stay with a colleague for the moment, but Dad says he's asking around trying to find a place of his own."

"Does he know where _you_ are?"

"Nope," said Ron. 

"Definitely not?"

"Definitely."

"He left before Mr and Mrs Weasley told us we were coming here," Hermione explained. "On Monday evening, Percy wasn't home yet, Mr Weasley said at dinner that he and Mrs Weasley had something very important to discuss with us, but that we should wait for Percy. But when Percy came, he was all in a flutter about his promotion, and wanted to talk about that first, and then the argument started, and we were sent to bed and didn't hear anything about this place at all until breakfast on Tuesday, when Percy was already gone."

A wave of relief swept over Sirius. What a close call it had been – if the Weasleys had informed their children of their plans one day earlier, or if Percy had been subtle enough to keep quiet about his new position as one of Fudge's personal lapdogs, Fudge might very well know all about the Order of the Phoenix now. Sirius felt his blood run cold at the thought. It seemed they had to thank heaven that Percy had been the self-important twit that he was – it had prevented a disaster. 

"Sirius?" Hermione asked. 

"What?" Sirius blinked, coming out of his thoughts.

"You look really worried."

"Oh, I'm not worried, it's quite all right," he said, shaking off his unease. "Good news, actually." He gave the two girls a smile, but quickly stopped when he caught the look on their unhappy faces and realised that he could hardly expect them to see anything good in the situation. 

"Look, I didn't mean – " He couldn't find the right words to explain his relief. "I'm sorry to hear that, about your brother," he finally said.  He turned from Hermione to Ginny, from one small sad face to the other. Ron's sister looked back at him blankly. "No, about that, I'm sorry, I really am. Believe me." 

The two girls exchanged a look, and very reluctantly, they both nodded.****


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"It's your turn now," Ron said to Sirius.

"What do you mean?" 

"Yes, we've told you all our news, now tell us yours," said Hermione briskly.

"Yeah, and tell us about the house," Ron added. "It's a really creepy place." 

Hermione gave him a look that would have done honour to Mrs Weasley, but she seemed to have no better word for it either. 

"There's not much to tell," Sirius said. "I thought it might be a good idea to set up the Order's Headquarters here, and Albus Dumbledore agreed, so here I came. I haven't done anything really interesting since. I don't go out often these days." 

But his three young friends clearly thought that there was nothing more interesting in the world than setting up headquarters for a secret underground movement.

"And the _Order,"_ Ron lowered his voice respectfully at the last word, "they're using this place as their base of operations? They have all their secret meetings here and everything?" 

"Now don't get excited," Sirius said dryly. "Yes, we do meet here, as you will soon see, but only about once a week, and sometimes no one looks in at all for several days. Depends on how much they've got to do." 

"And what exactly _is_ it you're doing?" Ginny asked curiously. 

Sirius let out a short laugh, much like a dog's bark. "Me?" he asked back. "Cooking, and cleaning, and reading, and sleeping. Honestly, Ginny, the Order is putting a great effort into keeping what they're doing a secret, and besides, I don't think your mother would think it a good idea if I gave you a detailed account." 

"So who else _is_ in the Order?" Ron tried a different question. 

"I'm not going to give you a list, either."

They all looked severely disappointed. 

"Listen, you three," said Sirius, and hoped that they would, "it's not because you're too young or because you don't understand, or because the grown ups _like _having secrets. It's for your own protection. What you don't know you can't be made to tell. Remember that from time to time, will you? And now let's go down to the kitchen and see if we can help your mum with the lunch, shall we?"

His warning had definitely made an impression. The three of them asked no more questions, but nodded slowly and then filed out of the girls' bedroom before him. They were joined on the landing by Fred and George, who had been keeping to their own room in conspicuous silence. 

"This house is wicked," one of them said in awe. "How did you get hold of a place like this, Sirius?"

"By waiting until my parents died," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "It's still wicked enough without them. Just so you know – " He indicated the door to their right  "– this room is off limits to all of you, unless want to become a Hippogriff dinner. If you hear any odd sounds in there, it's just Buckbeak flapping his wings."

"Oh, Buckbeak is here?" Hermione exclaimed excitedly. "Can't we say hello to him, Sirius?"

"Later. I want you to know what's behind the other doors first." They followed him down to the second floor. "This room," he pointed at the door leading to his father's bedroom, "is Lupin's, so it's off limits to you, too, particularly at the full moon."

"Professor Lupin is here, too?" asked one of the twins.

"Cool," said the other.

Ginny suddenly looked terrified. "But he won't be here when – "

"No, I guess he won't," Sirius said, remembering that most wizards would think it completely mad to spend a full moon's night under the same roof as a werewolf, even a werewolf on Wolfsbane. "All the same, don't bother him when he _is_ here if you can help it, he's really busy at the moment. Same goes for all the others. You'll have the run of the house most of the time, so don't get in anyone's way while they're here."

Five heads nodded in agreement. "Of course we won't," Hermione said for all of them. 

"The room next to this is the study," Sirius continued. "So if you're planning on doing any homework, or a bit of extra revision for your exams, this is where to look for books." 

He had meant it ironically, but Hermione was literally bouncing up and down at the prospect.  "Can I? Really?" she asked excitedly. 

"Once we've chucked out the books that burn your eyes out or bite your fingers off, yes."

Hermione's enthusiasm quickly evaporated. Ginny gave a shocked gasp.

"You're kidding," said Ron. 

"No, I'm not," Sirius replied. "I told you, don't touch _anything _in this house until we've had a closer look at it. Even I don't know half the unpleasant surprises that might still be lurking in here. And I don't want any of you to end up in St. Mungo's, we can't have the Healers ask your mother awkward questions. So be careful, and don't make life more complicated for all of us than it already is."

They continued downstairs past the grim shrunken heads on the wall. 

  
"Urgh." Ginny shuddered. 

"Why would anyone collect shrunken heads?" Ron wondered.

Hermione forced herself to look at them more closely. "Are they – are they house-elves?" she asked in a whisper. 

Sirius nodded. 

"Where do they come from?" 

"They all served the family once."

"Your family had _house-elves?"_

Sirius could see Ron rolling his eyes behind her back. "Yeah, sure," he shrugged. "Most old wizarding families have, Hermione."

"And then they put their heads on the wall when they die?" Hermione asked, looking revolted. 

"No, that's just the Blacks' idea of a joke," Sirius said dryly. 

"But that's really sick!"

Sirius decided not to tell Hermione what _he _thought was the really sick part of the story. 

"Drop it, Hermione," Fred told her in a very bored voice. "Fighting for the rights of _dead_ house-elves really is a lost cause."

"Probably the lostest cause there is," George added. "Even you have to admit that."

"And the only living specimen of their kind left in this house deserves your efforts even less," Sirius concluded. 

"You _still_ keep a house-elf?" cried Hermione, sounding scandalized. 

"Sssh!" Ron hissed at her. 

"I assure you that if I could have my way, I wouldn't keep him one day longer," Sirius said grimly. "I wanted to kick him out, but he knows too much."

"But you don't make him work any more, do you?"

Sirius shrugged again. "Why not? He's been lazing around in the empty house for about ten years, it's time he remembered what he's here for. Wait till you meet him, Hermione," he said when she opened her mouth to protest. "I'd like to see you keep sticking up for elf rights once you've met Kreacher." 

"Master said Kreacher's name?" a small, wheezy voice came out of the shadows of the entrance hall. Sirius stopped dead on the stairs, and so did the others behind him. 

The small figure of the Black's old house-elf edged around what looked like a large umbrella stand in a corner of the hall. He'd obviously been hiding behind it. His large pale eyes were gleaming faintly as he looked up at Sirius and the group of children at his back. "Master has visitors," he muttered. "Noisy brats, trampling about the house, sticking their nasty noses into everything…"

"_You_ talk about sticking their noses into everything," Sirius snapped at him, "eavesdropping on us as you were!"

"Not eavesdropping," Kreacher answered. "Kreacher must look after Master's guests, see to their needs…" The house-elf stared at each of them in turn with his unsettlingly pale eyes, and then sank into a low bow. "They must be _hers_," they heard him mutter under his breath, "all these nasty redheads, just like their parents, invading my Mistress's house, throwing out my Mistress's things, the scum…"

"That's enough, Kreacher," Sirius said sharply. 

"Kreacher," said Hermione suddenly, and stepped down into the hall. "Kreacher, we're not invading your house, we're just guests." She attempted a little smile. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Granger?" the elf muttered, eyeing her suspiciously. "Kreacher has never heard the name, it's not one of the old families."

"No, you wouldn't know them," Hermione said in a friendly tone, obviously happy that Kreacher was responding. "My family are Muggles." 

But to that, Kreacher responded in a manner that she had probably not expected. "Muggles!" he mumbled, and turned away from her. "A Mudblood, that's what she is, a filthy Mudblood –"

Sirius hand shot forward, and he grabbed the elf hard by the shoulder. "Shut your _dirty_ mouth," he hissed, shaking him roughly. 

"Sirius, don't!" Hermione cried.

"Hermione, he just called you a – " Ron protested.

"Yes, but he probably doesn't know better." She looked sadly at the small creature squirming in Sirius's grip. "Let go of him, Sirius, _please_."

"As you wish." Sirius gave Kreacher a shove that made the elf stumble several feet backwards. He fell hard on the stone floor, whimpering in pain. Sirius looked at him disgustedly and then turned back to Hermione, defying her to say any more in the Kreacher's defence, when suddenly, Ginny pointed over his shoulder down the hallway. 

"Sirius, what's he doing there?" 

Sirius spun around. Kreacher had crawled a little way further down the hall to where the moth-eaten velvet curtains hung on the left hand wall, and had grabbed the ends of the curtains with his spindly fingers. A wicked grin spread across his ugly face. 

"OH NO YOU WON'T!" Sirius roared, and realised immediately that this had been a mistake. 

The curtains flew out of Kreacher's hands of their own accord, and revealed the portrait of Mrs Black, eyes popping at the sight of all the redheaded children, screaming at the top of her lungs. "DIRTY BRATS, BEFOULING MY HOUSE! AND YOU!" She pointed an accusing finger at Sirius. "YOU, UNNATURAL SON THAT YOU ARE, HOW DARE YOU LET THIS SCUM INTO THE HOUSE OF YOUR FATHERS! AH, THE SHAME OF IT, SHAME OF MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD, YOU'RE NO SON OF MINE, YOU – "

"Come on!" Sirius shouted to the Weasley boys, who stood rooted to the spot, gaping at the portrait. "Help me close the curtains, someone!" 

The twins came to live, and hurtled down the last few steps into the hall to help. Together, the three of them managed to force the curtains shut. Ginny, who had grabbed Hermione's arm, let go looking white and shaken.

"What was that?" Hermione whispered.

"A screaming portrait, in case you didn't notice," Sirius replied sarcastically. "And the reason why we want no noise in the entrance hall."

"But Sirius – " Hermione's eyes travelled back and forth between him and the now perfectly still curtains. "She said – she said, you're no _son_ – "

"Yeah, that was a lie, actually," said Sirius bitterly. "Because technically speaking, I am."

There was a stunned silence. Then, "Blimey," Fred said in an awed whisper, "and I thought _our_ mother shouting at _us _was bad."

* * *

Lunch was a very subdued affair. Mrs Weasley started glaring at her children the moment they entered the kitchen. Sirius told her bluntly that it had been him who had set off Mrs Black in the entrance hall, but it was clear that she didn't believe one word of it. 

None of them ate much, and they talked even less. Sirius felt that the young Weasleys all avoided looking at him, and with all that he had on his own mind, he wasn't going to make polite conversation and pretend that everything was fine. 

When they had finished their meal, Mrs Weasley enlisted Fred and George's help with the washing up. "Come on, you two, you can make yourselves useful for once," she said, getting up and starting to clear away the plates. 

But Fred and George at their end of the table had just produced a sheaf of parchments from their pockets and were putting their heads together over it, shielding it from view. "Ginny and Ron can do it," George said dismissively. 

Ginny opened her mouth to protest. Mrs Weasley's eyes were flashing dangerously. "If I say you two help me with the washing up – "

"We're of age, Mum, so stop ordering us around as if we were babies," said Fred grumpily. 

Their mother put her hands on her hips. "As long as _you two_ at least are still living under _my roof_ – " she began rather loudly. Ron and Hermione exchanged an alarmed look. 

"This is not _your_ roof, Mum," said George smartly, "it's Sirius's roof." The twins grinned at each other. 

"Then you could at least show a little consideration for your host and –" 

"Our host has a house-elf, Mum."

"That's no excuse to be rude, you two!"

"Oh, come on," Fred said to George, rolling his eyes. "Let's get out of here." There was a loud _crack_, and a moment later, the twins and their parchments had disappeared from the room.

Mrs Weasley heaved an exasperated sigh. "They're hopeless!" she exclaimed. "They always do that now they're allowed to, they think they can get away _with _everything just because they can get away _from_ it!"

"Mrs Weasley, we can help you with the washing up," Hermione said quickly, tugging Ginny's sleeve to prompt her into agreeing. Ginny nodded half-heartedly. 

"I'm sorry about their behaviour, Sirius," Mrs Weasley said apologetically. "Really, sometimes I just don't know where we went wrong with them."

"There's nothing wrong with them," Sirius said thoughtfully. "I think they must be a very clever pair of wizards, actually."

"Clever?" Mrs Weasley cried. "Well, if you mean all this nonsense, all this useless joke shop stuff – "

"I didn't mean that," said Sirius. "I was only wondering how they've just managed to Disapparate from an Apparation-proof house." 


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

As it turned out, to Sirius's slight relief, Fred and George had not Disapparated _from _the house after all. But they had Disapparated to their room on the third floor, where they shut themselves in for the rest of the afternoon, "discussing business" as they told a very annoyed Ron who, looking for company, found himself outside a locked door.

Hermione had asked Sirius if he'd have a look at the books in the study with her, to make sure they were safe to read. They ended up spending half the afternoon there in quiet but amicable company, flicking through ancient books, sorting the useful from the boring and the safe from the possibly dangerous. 

"This looks interesting, but it won't open," Hermione said, handing Sirius a book with a mouldy black leather cover.

"Curiosity killed the cat," said Sirius, and threw it into a corner. 

"Oh, Sirius," Hermione sighed. "How can you throw away books like that? It hurts my heart. It's almost like killing a living being. Books have a soul, you know."

"Black souls, some of them," Sirius shrugged. "Some of these might hurt you more _if _you read them, Hermione."

His mind was on other things. What had gone wrong with the spell that was supposed to protect the house? _Leave the slightest gap in your line, and the whole house will remain open for Apparation_, Dumbledore had said. Had anyone actually tried Apparating into it since? Dumbledore had wanted to try, but he had been interrupted. Sirius found himself scanning the contents pages of several spellbooks, looking for anything that had to do with Apparation. He didn't want to unnerve Hermione by sharing his worries, but maybe one of the books in his father's library held the answer to his question. 

"Sirius?" 

He looked up from _Past and Present Magical Transportation_ and found Hermione sitting on the sofa and looking at him over the edge of a heavy volume of a magical encyclopaedia. 

"Yes?" 

"You have tried to take her down, haven't you?"

There was no need to ask what she was talking about. "Yes."

"Is it a Permanent Sticking charm?"

"Yes."

Hermione lowered her eyes again with a thoughtful "hmm" and resumed her reading, frowning slightly. Then she put the volume on the table in front of her, and came to join Sirius again to look through some more shelves. 

A little while later, Sirius was no wiser about Apparation-proofing than before, there was a knock on the door, and Ginny appeared, carrying Crookshanks in her arms. 

"He's getting really restless in the bedroom, Hermione," she reported. "Can't we just give him the run of the house, Sirius? He's a very clean cat, and he won't break anything, we promise."

"Except maybe one or two more of my ribs," Sirius grinned. "No, go ahead. No problem. He can catch a rat or two for Buckbeak if he wants to make himself useful." 

Crookshanks looked at Sirius with his big, gleaming eyes, and blinked as if he'd understood. 

"Do you really think it's safe?" Hermione asked in a concerned tone. She came over to scratch Crookshanks behind the ears. 

"Sure. There's nothing in the house bigger than him except us and Buckbeak, and anything smaller he can deal with." 

Hermione gave Sirius the slightest of frowns, but he pretended not to notice. Ginny and the cat left, and they returned to their books. By the time Mrs Weasley called them for tea, the pile of books and parchments to be disposed of had grown considerably, even though Hermione had insisted that Sirius only throw out books that had completely fallen apart, or that he deemed dangerous, rather than just uninteresting or bad. 

"I don't find history boring at all," she said reproachfully as she rescued _La __France__ Magique au 17ième Siècle_ from the heap of doomed books.

"But you don't read French, do you?" Sirius asked.

"Not really." Hermione blushed. "But maybe I'll learn it properly one day. Let's keep this one, please." She put it back in its place on the shelf and went to pick up the little stack she had assembled on the table. "Can I take these to my room for a while?" she asked. "Just for a bit of - study?" 

Sirius thought he could guess what she'd be looking for. He briefly considered telling her that it wouldn't work anyway, but then remembered that he himself had occasionally managed to prove a recognised authority wrong in his Transfiguration homework. He smiled at Hermione, laden with her spellbooks, and wished her luck. 

"All right then," he said, looking around. "We'll leave the rest here and tell Kreacher to throw it out. I'm not sure if some of these are even safe to burn. So where's that dratted elf?" 

Kreacher, it turned out, was not far. 

"Sirius," Ron complained when they emerged from the study, "the elf is in my room!" He was standing on the landing outside the open door to his bedroom. There was an angry hiss from inside, and a frightened wail. "And Crookshanks won't let him out!"

They came to look, and found that Ron was right. Kreacher was at the far end of the room by the wall under the window, cowering low, his spindly arms raised protectively over his head. Crookshanks had cornered him, ready to jump, hissing and baring small pointed teeth at the terrified elf.

"Crookshanks, no!" Hermione exclaimed, and rushed inside. She picked up her cat by the scruff of its neck and carried it resolutely from room. Crookshanks was fighting madly to get back to the ground. "You don't attack innocent house-elves," she chided him. "He hasn't done anything to you! It was very wrong of you, very wrong."

"If you restrict that to _innocent_ house-elves, Hermione, Crookshanks is quite right," Sirius said coolly. "He's got a nose for who's to be trusted and who isn't. Remember Scabbers?"

"The filthy Mudblood," muttered Kreacher's small voice behind them. "She pretends to be nice to Kreacher, to help Kreacher, but she's just as bad as the rest, the dirty little – "

Ron banged the door shut on him. 

They were all getting more and more nervous as the hour of the Order's meeting drew near. Mrs Weasley was in a supremely bad mood. There was no discussion about the washing up after tea - she was far too keen to get her children out of the kitchen before anyone from the Order arrived. 

"I want you to go upstairs straight away, and stay there," she instructed them when they had finished their tea. "Don't get in anyone's way while the meeting goes on. Don't talk to anyone, and make no noise." She glared at her twins. "I want you all in bed by ten, and no arguing. Your father will come and look in on you when he's got the time. Now off you go." 

Sirius was slightly surprised that the young Weasleys accepted this without protest. The twins in particular looked like they were about to burst with curiosity, but they just exchanged a look, and obediently led the way out of the kitchen, Ron, Hermione and Ginny following in their wake.

* * *

It was hardly half an hour later when the doorbell announced the first visitor. Mrs Weasley was still clearing the kitchen for the meeting, and Sirius had only just come back from the first floor, where he had locked Kreacher into a bathroom as he had threatened he would.

"Don't bother, I'll go," he said when Mrs Weasley winced at the sound of Mrs Black's portrait awaking noisily in the hall. He was getting used to it – one hard wrench at the curtains would do the trick if his mother wasn't in a particularly nasty mood. The person outside did not have to wait long before Sirius opened the door. 

"Am I too early?" Hestia Jones asked and blushed furiously even before Sirius could greet her. She was standing on the doorstep, her frizzy black hair framing a rosy-cheeked face with rather wide eyes, looking positively terrified at the prospect of finding herself alone in the house with him. Sirius decided that smiling at her would only make it worse. 

"You're the first to call, if that's what you meant," he said politely. "But Molly Weasley's here, too. Come in. You know the way." 

He had hardly closed the door behind her when the bell started ringing again. Hestia was just passing the curtains when they flew open and Mrs Black resumed her screaming with full force. Hestia jumped and let out a frightened little shriek. 

"Go on," Sirius shouted, and gestured towards the far end of the hall, "I'll take care of her!" He wasn't sure if she'd understood the words, but she took their meaning. She nodded with relief and hastened down the hall to the kitchen stairs, leaving him to deal with the racket. But Sirius didn't bother to silence the portrait before he opened the door again. Whoever it was this time that hadn't remembered not to ring the bell was going to help him with that, and never forget about it again. 

Standing on the doorstep outside was someone who, Sirius was immediately sure, had not forgotten about it at all. 

"I'm _extremely_ sorry," said Severus Snape over the infernal noise, not looking sorry in the least.   

Sirius felt a lot like closing the door again right in his face. "Are you?" he said curtly. "Come in and help me shut her up then." He turned his back on his visitor and marched down the hall. Snape followed, but made no move to come to his aid. He just looked at the screaming Mrs Black with mild interest while Sirius struggled with the curtains. Sirius gave him a dirty look, and at the third attempt managed to cover the portrait, drowning her abusive shrieks in dusty velvet.

"Well, well," Snape said softly into the sudden silence. "What a disappointment you must have been."

Sirius briefly considered giving Snape a black eye, there and then. "I notice she hasn't got anything to say about _you_," he replied icily. "But I wouldn't consider that a compliment, Snape."

"You've got an interesting concept of what makes a compliment, Black," Snape said smoothly. "I shouldn't think that _abomination of my flesh _was _– "_

"Good evening," Mrs Weasley's voice suddenly came from the back of the hall, and for a moment, Sirius was almost sure he had heard something like the smallest sound of several pairs of feet hastily scuttling away over their heads. "If you will come downstairs, Professor Snape, we're quite ready for the meeting," Mrs Weasley said briskly, coming forward to meet them. "Sirius, if you could just give me a hand with a few more chairs – " She walked over to the unused living room with the boarded up windows, which had come to serve as something like a storage room, and held the door open, looking at him expectantly. 

Sirius swept past Snape without another word, and Snape shrugged and disappeared through the door to the basement. 


	26. Chapter 26

**PLEASE NOTE:**

**Chapter 26 exists in two versions. This one is short and rated PG. The Alternate Version has the full story, but gets a PG-13 rating for featuring a disturbingly graphic bit of emergency surgery. So if you can't abide the sight of blood, don't read the Alternate Version, but jump straight to Chapter 27 after this one. Both versions of No. 26 will tie in seamlessly with No. 27, and the short version has all the information that is essential to the plot. **

**Chapter 26**

"We didn't have enough last time," Mrs Weasley said, carrying a chair out to the hall and setting it down with as little noise as possible. "Would you be so kind – " 

"Yeah, sure," Sirius said curtly, grabbed a back of a chair with each hand and made to follow Snape down to the kitchen. He spent as little time in there as possible, setting his chairs down near the door and turning immediately back to get some more, when it suddenly struck him that he had just witnessed a rather unexpected scene. In the shadows outside the open door, he stopped and glanced furtively back into the room. 

Snape was standing at the fireplace, leaning against the mantelpiece. At first, it had looked as if he'd folded his arms casually, but Sirius realised now that Snape was in fact clutching his left forearm rather hard with his right hand. Next to him, sitting in a chair and looking up at Snape with an expression of pity and deep concern on her face, was Hestia Jones. They must have been in a quiet conversation when Sirius had come in, and they were resuming it now they thought him gone. 

"Is it that bad already?" Hestia Jones asked sadly.

Snape didn't answer.

"There's no way to ease it?" Hestia insisted.

"Only one."

"Which one?"

"Go."

Hestia's eyes grew wide in alarm. "You're not – "

"Not yet. But soon." Snape turned away from her to stare into the fire, still clutching his left arm.

There were voices in the hall upstairs, and Sirius could hear footsteps approaching. He quickly went to meet the newcomers before they found him eavesdropping on something that was clearly not supposed to be his business, regretting all the same that he had to. 

**TBC in Chapter 27 (the next entry contains an Alternate Version of Chapter 26, rated PG-13). **


	27. Chapter 26 Alternate Version, rated PG13

**PLEASE NOTE: **

**This Chapter is an Alternate Version of Chapter 26, and unlike the rest of the story, rated PG-13 for featuring a disturbingly graphic bit of emergency surgery. So if you can't abide the sight of blood, don't read this, but go straight to Chapter 27 (you won't miss anything that's essential to the plot). IF you read this, make sure you're not eating anything while you do. **

**Chapter 26 – Alternate Version**

"We didn't have enough last time," Mrs Weasley said, carrying a chair out to the hall and setting it down with as little noise as possible. "Would you be so kind – while I just go upstairs for a second – " 

"Yeah, sure,"Sirius said curtly. Mrs Weasley made for the stairs, taking off her apron, and Sirius grabbed a back of a chair with each hand and made to follow Snape down to the kitchen. 

When he arrived there, a very strange sight met his eyes. Sirius stopped dead in the shadows outside the open door. 

Severus Snape was standing at the far end of the room, with his back to the door. He had pushed back the left sleeve of his robes and was holding his arm over the sink.  With his right hand, he seemed to be pulling at something on his left forearm. 

In a chair by the fireplace, looking at him with an expression of pity and deep concern on her face, was Hestia Jones. She watched him struggle awkwardly for a moment, and then got up from her seat. 

"Do you need a third hand?" she asked quietly, taking a few steps towards him. 

Snape turned sharply to face her. Sirius could see his profile clearly, paler than usual beneath his black hair. His face was tense, but to Sirius's surprise it was not quite the same mask of annoyance and contempt that Snape usually showed to the world.

"What? No, no need," he said indifferently, tugging again at his left forearm. Sirius realised there was a piece of cloth tied around it, just below the elbow. It looked like a very makeshift bandage, rather frayed and greyish, as if it hadn't been changed for a while. Snape was trying to untie it with one hand, but the knot wouldn't come undone. He let go and reached impatiently into his robes for his wand when Hestia Jones held out her hand. 

"Let me help," she offered, in the same quiet voice as before.

Snape made no move to accept her offer, but he didn't object either when Hestia came to his side, reached up to his left arm and carefully untied the knot that held the bandage in place. Snape took off the dirty cloth and dropped it into the sink. Underneath it, there was another, smaller piece of cloth that covered the inside of his forearm. It was hardly more than a rag, with brownish and yellowish spots as if it was drenched in some unhealthy substance. Snape made to peel it off, but it stuck to his arm. He pulled a face, tugged at it a little harder, and let out a sharp hiss of pain.

"Is it that bad?" Hestia Jones asked, the worried frown deepening on her face. 

Snape shook his head, not looking up. He gave the rag another tug, but to no avail.

"Can you – " Hestia began. 

"Look away," he said.

"Why?"

He stared at her with narrowed eyes, but she returned his gaze very steadily. 

"I would if I were you."

"No."

Snape shrugged, balled his left hand into a fist, and in one quick and determined move ripped the dirty piece of cloth off his forearm. Hestia gasped and took a step backwards, covering her mouth with both hands. 

Even from a distance, it was a sickening sight. The inside of Snape's left forearm was one raw and red wound. In the centre of it was a small, dark spot. The skin had broken open around it, and festering cracks were beginning to spread in all directions. The skin around the gaping flesh was an angry, inflamed red, interspersed with little rivulets of a sickly yellow liquid that ran down to his wrist. 

"Oh my God," Hestia whispered.

Snape looked at her darkly. The corners of his mouth were twitching, but Sirius was quite sure that this time, it was not out of contempt. Snape's left hand was clenched into a fist so tightly that it was shaking. 

"How – how did it get so – " Hestia swallowed hard, staring at the gaping wound.

"It burns."

"All the time?"

"Until you turn up."

"And what – what if you don't?"

"It keeps burning."

"Do they meet often?"

"Daily." Snape drew his wand out of his robes. "And now do me the favour and _look away_." And without waiting for her to do so, he turned back towards the sink and muttered _"Scourgify." _

Sirius was quite thankful that he didn't see what exactly was going on. With a soft clatter, the wand fell down on the table next to the sink, and Snape seized his arm with his right hand. The sound of some thick liquid dripping into the sink, and Hestia Jones's pale face when she finally closed her eyes and turned her head away were enough to make it clear that it wasn't a pretty sight. 

When Snape turned back towards the room, he looked a shade paler than before, and Sirius wondered if it was just a trick of the flickering firelight, or something else, that made his dark eyes glisten. He was breathing rather heavily, still clutching his arm, pressing the dirty rag back onto the wound. 

"No, don't," Hestia said quickly, searching the pockets of her robes and producing a small, neatly folded handkerchief from one of them. "Take this, it's clean."

Snape took it hesitantly.

"Can't you put anything on it to - " Hestia suggested timidly. 

"Such as?" 

"Essence of Murtlap?"

"Doesn't help." 

Snape picked up his wand from the table, muttered _"Ferula",_ and a strip of cloth issued from the tip of his wand. He directed it around his left forearm, covering the wound and holding Hestia's handkerchief in place.

"So there is no way to ease it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Only one."

"Which one?" 

"Go."

Hestia's eyes grew wide in alarm. "You're not – "

"Not yet. But soon." He had said it in the same level tone, his eyes still fixed on his arm, but Sirius could see the hand with the wand shake. 

"Do you know," Hestia said quietly, seeing the same, "you're very brave to do this for us."

Snape paused and looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm not doing it for you," he said coolly.

"No, for our cause, I mean," she corrected herself quickly. 

"Our _cause._" Snape almost spat out the word. "Only fools believe in causes, Hestia, dreamers and hopeless romantics. Don't take me for one of them." 

"But then why – " Hestia's voice was trembling now. "Why the effort, why the risk? And the pain," she ended in a whisper. Snape frowned at her as if she'd said something to offend him, but she stood her ground. _"Why?"_ she asked again.

"Why?" he repeated. "Very simple. Survival_._ We might as well question why we breathe." He flicked his wand, and the bandage detached itself from its tip and tied itself around his arm in a neat knot. 

"But there must be more than that," Hestia insisted. "Other things. Higher things. Things that matter even beyond our own lives."

Snape flexed his bandaged arm gingerly. "Like what?" he asked indifferently.

  
"You don't believe in love?" Hestia asked very quietly.

"I'm long past believing in anything, Hestia."

"So you don't believe in justice, either?"

"Justice." Snape gave a short and very bitter laugh. "Justice least of all."

Hestia Jones looked at him with a deep sadness in her eyes. "But there must be something that you still ask of the world, Severus."

"Yes, there is," he said harshly. "To leave me_ alone."_

He turned away from her, back towards the door, and Sirius was quick witted enough to pick up his chairs and come blundering noisily into the room as if he'd just arrived. 

Snape hastily pulled his sleeve down to his wrist. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, Sirius felt as if he was looking into the depths of his own pain reflected in the other's dark eyes. But then, the dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, Snape's upper lip curled into the familiar sneer, and the moment had passed. Sirius dropped his chairs and left the room again as quickly as he could. 

His mind was still on what he'd just seen and heard when he came back to the hall. He could hardly believe it. Since when had Snape ever been friendly with Hestia Jones? Since when had he ever been friendly with _anyone_ in the Order? And even if 'friendly' wasn't exactly the right word to describe Snape's tone, how was it possible that he would ever allow anyone to see what Hestia Jones had just seen? And she of all people, little Hestia Jones who was afraid of her own shadow, of loud noises and of big dogs, even in their human form, but who had not seemed at all afraid of the Dark Mark, nor of the one who bore it. 

Why?


	28. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

In the hall, Sirius met Mrs Weasley and her son Bill, Dedalus Diggle, Sturgis Podmore, and Mundungus Fletcher. The four wizards were still in their cloaks, apparently only just arrived. Mundungus Fletcher was carrying a large cardboard box under his arm. Greetings were exchanged in whispers, and Bill and Sturgis Podmore eagerly came to Mrs Weasley's help locomotoring the remaining chairs downstairs with their wands. Sirius went to close the living room door and was about to follow the little group when he heard an urgent whisper behind his back. It came from the staircase. 

"The coast is clear," said the low voice of one of the Weasley twins. Sirius doubled back and looked up the stairs to the first landing. Silhouetted sharply against the gaslight in the corridor above, he could see five figures sitting at the top of the stairs. They froze at the sight of him. 

"It's no use playing dead," he said, ascending the stairs to meet them. They huddled even closer together, closing their ranks against him. The two youngest Weasleys were in front, Hermione and the twins at their backs, and they all looked at him with the same expression of silent defiance on their faces, determined not to budge an inch.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius asked unnecessarily, stopping halfway up the stairs in front of them.

"Mum told us not to come downstairs and not to talk to anyone," Fred said smartly. "So we're sitting upstairs and talking among ourselves." 

"Let me give you a piece of advice then."

"You're going to send us off to bed," Ginny said tonelessly, stating the obvious. 

"No. I was just going to suggest that if you don't want to be noticed, you'd better sit in the dark." Sirius pointed his wand over George's shoulder at the gas lamp on the landing, which extinguished itself obediently. Then he climbed the remaining stairs and sat down on the step below Ginny and Ron.

"Sirius," asked Fred eagerly, leaning past his younger brother, "who were the people Bill arrived with?"

"Yes, and the witch with the black hair that came earlier?" George added. 

Sirius frowned at the twins. "You know what Kreacher would say to that, don't you? Sticking your nasty noses into everything, that's what he'd call it."

"Don't be angry with us," Hermione pleaded. "We didn't get in anyone's way, none of them saw us."

"I hope so." 

"I'm sure they didn't," she said confidently. "None of them looked up here. They all seem very preoccupied."

"Except Snape," said Ron grimly. "Snape's just preoccupied with being mean, as usual."

Sirius felt his blood rise into his face, remembering the scene in the hall. "You heard that, too?"

"Yes," Hermione said apologetically. "We're sorry." 

"But we're on your side," Fred added emphatically. "How can anyone be such a mean git?" 

"I suppose we all can when we want to," Sirius shrugged, not particularly keen to pursue the subject. 

"But he's _always_ like that, isn't he?" Ginny insisted. 

"Makes you wonder what's eating him," said Fred.

"Whatever it is," George said casually, "I hope it eats him up soon, preferably before the start of the new school year." 

Sirius grinned, but then he remembered what he had just seen down in the kitchen, and his grin froze. "Don't say that," he snapped at George, who jumped at his sharp tone.

"Sssh!" Hermione hissed. They fell silent at once at the sound of the front door opening in the hall below. A moment later, the two tall figures of Minerva McGonagall and Elphias Doge had entered the house. 

"… and it is really good of Emmeline to be filling in tonight," Minerva McGonagall was saying. "I never feel entirely comfortable about Mundungus Fletcher doing it, but we're always short of volunteers, and it's bound to get even worse now."

                        
"Well, we can be sure Albus places the highest priority on his safety, Minerva," Elphias Doge replied in his wheezy voice. "He knows how much is at stake where Harry Potter is concerned."

"You're right, Elphias," Minerva McGonagall sighed. Their footsteps receded to the back of the hall, and their voices were lost in the distance. 

"Who is – " Fred began. 

"I'd find it easier not to answer your questions if you stopped asking them," Sirius cut him short.

"But they were talking about Harry," Hermione whispered urgently. 

"We all do from time to time. That's allowed, isn't it?"

"At least _they_ weren't saying crappy things about him," said Ron darkly. 

Now it was Sirius's turn to be surprised. "Who's saying crappy things about Harry?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged an eloquent look. 

"Do you read the _Daily Prophet_, Sirius?" Hermione asked innocently.

"Sometimes." He shrugged indifferently. "What's that got to do with Harry?"

"They're saying bad things about Harry," Ginny said quietly.

"Oh, they always need someone to pick on. The _Daily Prophet's_ been writing crappy things about _me_ for fourteen years, and they're still not tired of it." 

"But Sirius, this is bad," said Hermione heavily. "Really, really bad." 

"Does _Harry_ read the _Daily Prophet_?" 

"We don't think so," Ron replied slowly. "He never says anything about it in his letters." 

"Then what are you worried about?"

Sirius tried to sound as if he was shrugging it off, but inwardly, the news disquieted him a lot. He knew Harry had had to deal with the ugly sides of being something like a public figure in the wizarding world before, but if the _Daily Prophet_ was on a new discrediting campaign with Harry as their target now, they would be merciless. He could only hope that Harry was as blissfully unaware of it as he currently was of everything else that concerned him closely. 

"Speaking of Harry," Sirius went on, "thanks for sending Hedwig to me, by the way. That was a great idea." 

"It was actually Bill's idea," said Hermione quickly, and blushed. 

This time, it was Ginny's turn to hiss them all into silence. The front door opened again, and four more people filed into the house. Against the dim orange street lights, Sirius could make out that the person in front was wearing a bowler hat, and he knew who they were even before they stepped into the light of the hall.

Alastor Moody made straight for the other end of the hallway, looking down at the floor as he walked along with his characteristic _clunk_ in every other step. He was followed by Nymphadora Tonks, today with long hair tied into a ponytail. Then came Kingsley Shacklebolt carrying a briefcase, and Remus Lupin in his old trench coat brought up the rear, closing the door behind them. 

"Come on!" Moody called impatiently to his companions. "Hurry up, we're running late already."

"Are we?" Tonks said cheerfully as they followed him to the kitchen staircase, disappearing from view. "_I_ wasn't."

"Come on," Moody's voice repeated irritably. "We _are _late. They're almost all there." 

"Dumbledore, too?" Lupin's voice asked.

"No. Not yet." There was a short silence. The footsteps had halted. "And neither is Sirius, by the way," Moody continued then. "Sirius is sitting on the stairs right above our heads with Molly and Arthur's children, listening to every word we say." 

A moment later, his uneven steps were coming back towards the front of the hall, drawing inevitably closer to the staircase. Sirius acknowledged that he couldn't think of a better plan than playing dead either. 

Moody arrived at the bottom of the stairs, and the group on top suddenly found themselves bathed in a blinding light from the tip of the old Auror's wand. "And who have we got here?" Moody growled. It was impossible to tell whether he was amused or displeased. 

Sirius shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to make out Moody's face behind the source of the light. "Stop it," he said irritably.

Moody lowered his wand, and the bright light was gone. "Are you hiding from someone up there, or are you coming?" he asked gruffly.  

"I'm coming in a minute."

The old Auror shrugged, pocketed his wand and walked away. 

"He's creepy," Ginny whispered when they heard him descend the kitchen stairs.

"Sssh." Hermione frowned at her.

"He doesn't have magical earstoo, does he?" Ginny snapped.

"Who knows?" George asked slyly. "Might come in handy."

"Constant vigilance!" Fred grinned. 

Hermione's frown deepened. "That's not nice," she said. "He was a great Auror. And a great teacher, too."

"How do you know _that?"_ George asked pointedly. "We never saw much of his teaching last year, did we?"

"Don't remind him of it," said Sirius dryly, but Fred and George grinned even more. "Talking of magical eyes and _ears," _he continued, looking sharply at the twins, "now that Moody's here, I guarantee you that his constant vigilance will not be limited by the kitchen walls, so I don't want you to do anything tonight that you don't want him to see or your mother to know, which will be the same thing. I want you to respect your mother's wishes. Don't rely on me to stick up for you if you don't. Is that understood?" He looked at each of them in turn, waiting for them to agree. 

"Yes," Hermione said in a small voice. 

"OK," Ginny whispered, and Ron nodded. 

"Fred? George?" 

"We're of age," Fred said mutinously.

"Is that yes or no?"

"Why can't we – " 

George gave his brother a nudge in the ribs. They exchanged a look, then Fred shrugged. "Yes," he said very unwillingly, and George nodded in agreement. 

"Right, I've got to go then." Sirius got to his feet, but Ginny caught him by the sleeve.   
  


"Wait," she said. "Where's Dad?"

"Still at work, I – " Sirius stopped short. No, he realised, Arthur Weasley was not at work. He had just seen Minerva McGonagall, Moody, Lupin and the two Aurors enter the house. It wasn't hard to guess whom they must have left behind to guard the Department of Mysteries tonight. 

"Yes, where is he?" Ron echoed his sister, a worried frown appearing on his face. 

_They have a right to know,_ Sirius thought. _They have a right to know that their father is out there risking his life for the Order._ He looked down at the young Weasleys, and found five pairs of eyes looking back at him expectantly. He opened his mouth to speak. 

_What they don't know they can't be made to tell,_ a little voice said in his head. _Remember that from time to time, will you?_

"Sirius?" said Albus Dumbledore's deep, calm voice from the bottom of the stairs. "Are you coming?"


	29. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

The kitchen was buzzing with excitement when Sirius and Albus Dumbledore arrived there. The Aurors' little group was the centre of attention. Surrounded by the rest of the Order, who were bombarding him with questions, Kingsley Shacklebolt was making himself very unpopular by insisting that they wait until the meeting had officially started. He looked rather relieved when Dumbledore entered at last.

"Good evening," Dumbledore greeted them in his calm voice that nonetheless carried across the room. 

The group of witches and wizards broke apart and settled down around the large table, but the excited murmuring did not subside. 

"Dear friends," Dumbledore, at the head of the table, opened the meeting. "I have called you together again because the Order of the Phoenix needs your help, and urgently. Things are beginning to move." His eyes travelled over the assembled Order, and one by one, they fell silent. 

Sirius had taken the last free chair, between Bill Weasley and Sturgis Podmore, and looked around for his friends. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing next to Dumbledore, still clutching his briefcase. Moody had settled down at Shacklebolt's side, his bowler hat sitting on the table in front of him. Tonks was a few seats further down the row, and next to her, at the far end of the table, Sirius finally found Remus Lupin. Sirius tried to catch his eye, but Lupin wasn't looking anywhere, only gazing unfocusedly at the table in front of him, his lean face as pale and drawn as Tonks's had been the day before. Tonks herself seemed much more awake. She gave Sirius a quick smile when their eyes met.

"The reason why the Order needs your help," Dumbledore was saying, "is that Voldemort – " a shudder went around the room at the name " - appears to be preparing his first strike. Unfortunately, we don't yet know exactly what action he will take, and when. But we know _where_ he will strike. It will be at the Ministry of Magic."

Those that hadn't heard of this before gasped in surprise. Only Mundungus Fletcher, sitting in a corner wrapped in his cloak, gave a very satisfied grunt. "Serves 'em right." 

Dumbledore held up his hand. "A strike at the Ministry is a strike at the heart of the entire wizarding community," he said firmly, "no matter who holds the office of Minister at the moment, and no matter how much we might disagree with the Ministry's current position regarding Voldemort's return, Mundungus. We cannot allow this to happen."

"You Know Who is going to attack the Ministry of Magic?" Elphias Doge asked disbelievingly. "Wouldn't that be a bit rash? Premature?"

"It would," Dumbledore said. "I do not expect a concerted attack. When I said that he will strike, I was not talking about open war. No, Voldemort's plans are aimed at what Cornelius Fudge would, if he was referring to any action of mine, call 'interference'." Dumbledore's ancient face darkened. "He is trying, through his agents, to gain control over Fudge's decisions concerning a particular subject." 

"Which subject?" Dedalus Diggle prompted politely.

"The reform of the organizational structure of the Ministry Departments," Dumbledore replied mysteriously. All of his audience, except Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, frowned at these words.

 "And that's the urgent danger that we have to avert?" Elphias Doge said dismissively. "A mere change in the organizational structure of the Ministry Departments?"

"If you would kindly let me finish, Elphias," Dumbledore said with a bite of impatience in his voice, "I would explain to you the danger I see in this. Now, the reform of the organizational structure of the Ministry Departments is a topic that has seen much discussion in the recent years, never with any tangible result of course, as is usually the case with discussions of this kind. The Minister has apparently reopened the debate now. But this time, things have taken two unusual turns. For one, this time the discussion includes the special status of the Department of Mysteries, which has not been questioned, as far as I know or remember, since it was established over a century ago."

"What special status exactly?" Hestia Jones asked curiously. 

Dumbledore invited Kingsley Shacklebolt to speak.

"The work of the Department of Mysteries is kept an absolute secret from anyone outside it," the Auror explained. "The Department employees are not allowed to talk about it, nor do they. They never publish the results of their research, nor inform anyone what they're researching on. In consequence, the Department is not answerable to the rest of the Ministry. Magical Law Enforcement is not allowed to exercise any control over it. Even the Minister himself has no say in what kind of work is done there. His powers are restricted to appointing the Department's employees, and other formalities."

"And that's what the Minister wants changed in his reform?" Dedalus Diggle asked.

"But that's weird," Bill Weasley said, shaking his head. "You'd think it was a good idea, to know what they're up to, in case it's something dangerous, or illegal, or simply a waste of Ministry money."

"If you put it like that, you're quite right," Dumbledore agreed. "But there is more behind this matter than meets the eye. I don't believe it's a coincidence that the Ministry is being prompted into changing the status of the Department of Mysteries at just this time." 

"Who is prompting them?" Dedalus Diggle asked, picking up Dumbledore's cautious wording. 

"That is the second unusual turn the affair has taken," Dumbledore replied. "It doesn't seem to have been Fudge's own idea, or that of his Heads of Department. Fudge has apparently been in consultation with an independent advisor, and that is what worries me." 

"An independent advisor?" Diggle wondered. "But that in itself is surely not out of order? You yourself, Albus – "

"I know that I myself have been consulted by the Minister on earlier occasions. And yes, that is, in itself, a normal and perfectly acceptable procedure. But you will agree with me that it is no longer perfectly acceptable, and definitely ceases to be a mere coincidence, when the independent advisor is Lucius Malfoy."

A murmur went around the room. 

"I see that the name alone is enough to make you all suspicious," Dumbledore observed, "and rightly so. This name is the key to what, or rather who, is behind this whole affair, harmless and coincidental it might otherwise appear. It was Lucius Malfoy who prompted Fudge to take a critical look at the status of the Department of Mysteries. It is Lucius Malfoy who is urging him to bring the Department under full Ministry control, and make its secrets accessible. And it is not hard to guess who is, directly or indirectly, pulling the strings behind the scenes. Lucius Malfoy is no more than a puppet."

There was a heavy silence. 

"How do you know?" Sturgis Podmore finally asked. Several heads nodded to echo the question.

Dumbledore sighed. "I have had it confirmed from both sides. And for the moment, I'm afraid this information must suffice." 

More than one person shifted uneasily in their seats at these words. 

"I know this is a very unsatisfying answer," Dumbledore admitted. "I must ask you not to interpret it as a sign of mistrust of any of you. But I cannot risk compromising my sources, the matter is far too delicate. I would certainly not ask you for your help and support in a rather dangerous mission if I wasn't completely sure that the effort was necessary." Almost apologetically, he looked to his left at the Aurors and Remus Lupin. Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded thoughtfully. Lupin was still staring into space. Sirius wasn't sure he was even listening.

"But what does – what does You Know Who want with the Department of Mysteries?" Hestia asked timidly. "What's in there that he's interested in?" 

Dumbledore made no answer.

"But you _do_ know, don't you?" Moody demanded, frowning.

"There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Alastor," Dumbledore said rather sharply, "few of which I would like to see Voldemort lay his hands on." 

Moody almost shrank back from this sudden change of tone. "I just thought that we might make a better job of it if we knew _what_ we were guarding," he muttered. 

"Guarding?" Sturgis Podmore asked curiously. "So that's what you've been doing?"

"What we've been doing," Moody grumbled irritably, "is sitting under an Invisibility Cloak outside the door to the Department of Mysteries guarding we have no idea what. And that's what we want you all to help us with." 

"Alastor!" Minerva McGonagall seemed rather scandalized at Moody's tone.

"What?" he asked, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm only telling the truth."

"But we can't guard something if we don't know what it is," Hestia Jones pointed out shyly.

"Exactly my point," Moody grunted.

Albus Dumbledore raised his hand again, and sighed. "Please," he called, "let's discuss this one thing after another. Yes, I have asked Alastor Moody here, and Remus Lupin, and the three Ministry employees of our circle, to keep watch at the Department of Mysteries these past few days, and that is what Arthur Weasley is doing as we speak. I believe that there is an imminent danger that Voldemort's agents might try to break into the Department to lay their hands on – on something in there. The Ministry is doing nothing to prevent this. On the contrary, Cornelius Fudge is determined to walk open eyed into the trap Voldemort, through Lucius Malfoy, is setting for him. It falls to us to stop them. Some of us have sacrificed a lot of time and sleep over the last days in order to do just that. But they are not enough. We need the help of everyone who can give it."

"But what is it they're after?" Bill Weasley insisted.

Dumbledore gave him a long and thoughtful look, clearly struggling with himself how much he should tell them. "Knowledge," he said finally. 

"Knowledge?"

"Knowledge," Dumbledore confirmed. "Knowledge, in the hands of the wrong person, can be a powerful and terrible weapon. It can be used to manipulate the ignorant, to scare the timid, and to discourage the brave. Voldemort seeks this kind of knowledge. A knowledge that he hopes will provide him with what he needs to overcome the last obstacles on his road to victory."

"What kind of knowledge is that?" Tonks asked uncomfortably.

Dumbledore exchanged a look with Minerva McGonagall. She looked very sceptical, but made no move to keep him from continuing.

"An ancient kind," Dumbledore said. "The kind of knowledge only a true Seer would be able to reveal."

"A Seer?" whispered Hestia Jones.

"Yes," confirmed Dumbledore. "I know the art of Divination is not nowadays universally acknowledged as a serious branch of magic, or a reliable way of achieving knowledge of our future. I myself am in much doubt about the reliability of most techniques of Divination. But most witches and wizards still place high credibility on the prophecies of a true Seer. The Department of Mysteries, among many other things, serves as an archive of these prophecies. There is a room in there in which they are stored, thousands and thousands of them. It is one of these prophecies that Voldemort is after: the one that was made about him. And he will know how to turn it into a weapon against those that oppose him."

"But it doesn't say – it doesn't say that he's – invincible?" Hestia Jones asked in a very small voice. 

"No," Dumbledore assured her.

"How do you know that?" Elphias Doge demanded.

"Because I know what the prophecy says," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I was the one it was made to, many years ago."

Another whisper went around the room.

"But what _does_ it say then?" Tonks insisted.

Dumbledore sighed again. "You must understand," he said, looking around at their expectant faces, "that it is imperative that all our efforts be directed at keeping this a secret. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but we would be playing right into Voldemort's hands if we spread the knowledge of it, even among ourselves. Remember that there are ways to make a witch or wizard tell a secret against their will."

"Look, if this _prophecy_," Elphias Doge said it as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth, "if it doesn't say that You Know Who is invincible, then why are you so worried about him hearing it? How could he use it as a weapon, if it doesn't predict his victory?"

"Because Voldemort is not the only person the prophecy speaks of," Dumbledore explained. "And it is for the sake of the safety of this other person, most of all, that it must remain a secret. We must not even disclose the very existence of this prophecy to anyone outside our circle. Not to _anyone._" He looked around at them very gravely, and his eyes rested on Sirius rather longer than on all the others. 

"What are we to do then?" Bill Weasley asked with a sigh.

"I believe Voldemort hopes that his agents will manage to enter the Department and learn the content of the prophecy, and then return to report it to him. The archived prophecies are heavily protected, visibly and invisibly. Even to touch them is dangerous. But there are ways to overcome these obstacles. We must not let it come to that. Keep any of Voldemort's agents from entering the Department at all, and the prophecy will be quite safe."

"How are we supposed to do that?" asked Sturgis Podmore.

Kingsley Shacklebolt took a roll of parchment from his briefcase, and spread it out on the table. "Here is a plan of level nine of the Ministry of Magic," he explained. "Level nine contains the courtrooms – here." He pointed at them with his wand, and the word "courtroom" appeared in several places. "This corridor leads from the lifts to the entrance of the Department of Mysteries – that is the door here." He indicated a door close to the right edge of the parchment. The map didn't show anything beyond it.

"So nobody knows what's behind there?" Elphias Doge asked, leaning across the table to get a better look.

"I'm afraid not," said Kingsley, giving Dumbledore an apologetic look. "I've been hunting high and low for a plan of the Department. There's nothing to be found. Even the blueprints of the Ministry buildings they keep at Magical Maintenance stop at this door. Everything concerning the Department of Mysteries is gone. If anything ever existed."

"The structure of the Department is highly complicated," Minerva McGonagall said evenly, "and it keeps changing. It contains several rooms with many doors that are linked with each other, but these links shift. It might be possible to get in, but it won't be easy to get out again. And it certainly wouldn't be easy to make a reliable map of it." 

"How do you know that?" Elphias Doge asked, looking very impressed.

"The Ministry may have hidden or lost their records of the structure of the Department of Mysteries long ago, Elphias," Minerva McGonagall replied, "but the Hogwarts library hasn't."

"In any case," Dumbledore continued, "I hope that none of us will actually have to enter the Department itself. In fact, I strongly urge you not to, unless you absolutely must. The Unspeakables devote their studies to the fundamental questions and secrets of the human existence, and that involves dangerous experiments, and not only thought experiments. So if you must enter it, take good care to stay away from the objects in there. Don't touch anything. It might be fatal, even if it looks perfectly harmless."

More than one person in the room gave a little shudder at his last words. 

"What if they just Apparate straight past us?" Bill asked. "We might never know they're there."

"That is a good question," Dumbledore replied, "but fortunately not one that we have to worry about. The Department of Mysteries, unlike the rest of the Ministry of Magic, _is_ Apparation-proof. The fabric of it is much older than the floors above, and it has always been protected in this way. I'm not sure, but it might even be the highly sophisticated type of Apparation-proofing that makes it impossible to Apparate and Disapparate _within_ the protected space. The same spell as the one that protects Hogwarts."

Sirius suddenly realised Dumbledore had just provided the answer that all the books in his father's library had failed to give him, but he was hardly given the time to appreciate it.

"So you want us to stand guard outside the door?" Elphias Doge asked.

"Exactly," Kingsley Shacklebolt took over again. "The corridor, as you can see, is wide enough for that. Position yourselves here, under Alastor Moody's Invisibility Cloak." He indicated the spot. "Stay out of anyone's way, make no noise, don't fall asleep, and watch out for any unauthorised person trying to enter the Department."

"What do we do if anyone does?" asked Bill.

"Put them out of action. Stun them, hex them, do whatever it takes to stop them. Then raise an alarm. If it happens during office hours, immediately try to contact me, or Tonks here, or Arthur Weasley. If you can't, make sure someone else finds them. But be careful not to be seen. Get out of there as soon as you can be sure that the Ministry is taking care of the matter. Then alert the rest of the Order straight away. The Hogwarts headmaster's portrait in the atrium can be trusted with messages."

"What about the Department employees, then?" Elphias Doge asked. "We can't keep _them_ from coming and going as they like. What if one of them is in league with You Know Who, and retrieves the prophecy for him?" 

"I deem that very unlikely," said Dumbledore. "The Unspeakables take no interest in anything other than their work. They are bound by their oath of secrecy, and they abide by it very strictly."

"Unless they're called Algernon Rookwood," Moody growled. 

"Algernon Rookwood is in Azkaban," Minerva McGonagall said calmly. 

"For the time being."

"For the rest of his life, Alastor."

"So this is what the Order needs your help for," Dumbledore concluded. "I know this is asking much. It will take up a lot of our time and energy, while we must not neglect our other tasks. I know very well that we are not many, and that not every one of us is suited to this new task, for various reasons." He glanced at Sirius as if expecting him to object, but Sirius made a point of staring straight ahead, pretending he wasn't listening.

"Those of you who _are_ considering to volunteer," Dumbledore continued gravely, "let me warn you that this is a highly dangerous undertaking. You will need to be very much alert for six hours in a row, and at the same time, very quiet and unobtrusive. The risk of discovery is greater during the day shifts, while the risk of an attack is greater at night. But by day and night alike, you must be prepared to take both risks. If you are discovered by the Ministry, run for it. The consequences would be far too serious if you were caught. My means of intervening on anyone's behalf would unfortunately be very limited. In fact, I'm afraid that none of us will be able to do much at all in that case. I would even have to ask you to refuse to speak in your own defence, to protect the Order and our mission. So make sure you place your life and your freedom above your duties when it comes to it. Don't stay and act the hero."

"What _would_ happen if the Ministry discovered us?" Sturgis Podmore asked anxiously.   
  


"Your presence would be considered a criminal offence, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said in the same grave tone, "unless you can come up with a very good excuse for being there, but unless you're a Ministry employee you shouldn't rely on that. You would be trespassing on Ministry property, and that is severely punishable under wizarding laws. If you could give us an idea of the consequences, Dedalus – "

"Oh." Dedalus Diggle gave a little start. "Yes. Trespassing on Ministry property. A minimum sentence of six months in Azkaban, I'm afraid. Considerably more if you have any previous criminal convictions."

Elphias Doge gave a very short, indignant laugh. "Certainly, Dedalus," he said in a rather affronted tone, "you're not suggesting that anyone of _us_ has a _criminal record?"_

There was an awkward pause. Sirius could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him, and he suddenly hated their embarrassed silence, their polite pity, how they all pretended to understand, how they all pretended to sympathize, when they had _no_ idea what it really felt like. 

"Eh!" Mundungus Fletcher in his corner grumbled suddenly. "That's nothin' to be ashamed of!"

All heads turned towards him.

"You will find that the vast majority of the wizarding community disagrees with you on that, Fletcher," Severus Snape said coldly.

Sirius couldn't help himself. "Listen to him, Mundungus," he called across the room, "because _he_ knows."


	30. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Snape very slowly turned to look at Sirius, one pair of dark eyes boring into another. Sirius gave a shrug, returning Snape's stare with supreme indifference.

"Oh, _you,"_ Mundungus muttered ill-humouredly in Snape's direction. "I s'pose in _your _case –"

"Look, if you two want to make a competition of it," Sirius said recklessly, "don't get your hopes up. I win, hands down. I suppose I top even both of you combined."

"That's not funny," Minerva McGonagall said very sharply.

"It wasn't meant to be," Sirius snapped at her. 

"Then _don't say it_."

"But it's true."

"We're _aware_ of that, Sirius." 

"Maybe not enough for his taste," Snape said coldly, ignoring the warning hand Minerva McGonagall put on his arm.

"I don't need _your _pity!" Sirius shot back.

"But everyone else's all the more?" 

"Oh, just shut up_,_ both of you!" a deep voice suddenly thundered. "You two can go outside and curse each other to pieces for all I care, but right now you're not going to waste any more of our time!" Alastor Moody had risen abruptly from his chair, wand in hand, one eye flashing darkly at each of the opponents. A ringing silence followed his words.

Snape shrugged Minerva McGonagall's hand off his arm in annoyance, curling his lip disdainfully, but he made no reply.

Sirius folded his arms and leant back on his rear chair legs, surveying the damage he had done, and taking a savage pleasure in it. 

Bill Weasley had moved away from him a little, glancing at him uneasily. Mrs Weasley's glare was second only to Minerva McGonagall's, who was looking at Sirius more sternly than he could remember even from seven long years of Transfiguration classes. Dedalus Diggle sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. Elphias Doge was rolling his eyes at the ceiling. The look on Tonks's face was sad, almost pained. Only Remus Lupin still sat looking quietly down at the table, his arms put around himself as if he was cold, and seemed to have missed the entire exchange. But at least there was no trace left in any of their faces now of this patronizing sympathy, this sickening embarrassment. Sirius found their genuine indignation so much easier to bear than their dutiful pity.

"Thank you, Alastor," Albus Dumbledore calmly picked up the threads of the conversation again without so much as looking at either Sirius or Snape. "Now, those of you that are interested in continuing this discussion _constructively_, may I have your attention once more. We were discussing the dangers involved in the task at hand, and I must remind you once again of the risks you will be taking. However, let me repeat that the more we are, the easier it will be for all of us, particularly for those that have so far shouldered the full weight of the task."

"We've been doing this in shifts of six hours, two people at a time," Kingsley Shacklebolt took over again. "And we should keep to this pattern for the moment. To start with, every new volunteer should do this with one of us from the Ministry, to make yourselves familiar with the locality, so you can tell a regular incident from an irregular one."

"Then I suppose I'd better go and join Dad straight away?" Bill Weasley suggested practically. 

"Yes, do that," Shacklebolt agreed. "Thank you, Bill. Any more volunteers?"

"Me, gladly," said Sturgis Podmore eagerly.

"I wouldn't want to stay behind," Dedalus Diggle said in a dignified tone, and Hestia Jones nodded bravely in agreement. 

"I think I could do a shift or two, too," Elphias Doge said. "I'm not sure about Emmeline, though. Her health, you know."

"Do ask her," Dumbledore said. "We need all the help you can give. Unfortunately, not everyone suited to this task seems to be available at the moment. My brother Aberforth apparently can't even be _bothered _to answer my letters. There was an undertone of annoyance in his voice. 

"Oh yes," said Sturgis Podmore suddenly, "Bill, where are _your_ brothers?"

Bill exchanged a look with his mother, who gave a little shake of her head. "Upstairs," Bill replied diplomatically.

"Oh, thank you for reminding me, Bill," Dumbledore said, smiling at him and his mother. "Yes, I had almost forgotten to tell you, Molly and Arthur Weasley have moved into Headquarters for the time being, and brought their younger children with them. So don't be surprised if you see one or the other redhead around the house from now on." 

"Dumbledore," growled Moody, who was one of the few that hadn't smiled at the Headmaster's last comment, "you don't consider that a security risk?" 

"Practically everything we do constitutes a security risk, Alastor," Dumbledore said. "But be assured, the children will not be involved in any of the Order's activities, of course they won't. They're too young. They have been asked to stay out of our way, and not to ask questions, and I'm sure they will."

"But they will still see things," Moody objected.

"They will, that is inevitable. But I have learned that particularly Ron Weasley and his friend Hermione Granger can be relied on when it comes to knowing when to speak and when to remain silent. They can keep a secret better than most grown up witches and wizards can. But you are right, I should impress this on them once more, to make sure they appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Molly, if they're not in bed already, I should like to have a word with them after this meeting."

Mrs Weasley nodded. 

"Then I would ask all our new volunteers to stay behind for a moment. Kingsley Shacklebolt will make you acquainted with the practical details of the task, and draw up a plan for guard duty. Other than that, thank you for your patience, this meeting is concluded."

There was a shuffle of many feet as the witches and wizards got up from their seats. Severus Snape was the first at the door, sweeping wordlessly from the room. Minerva McGonagall followed shortly afterwards, but the majority of the Order remained behind, the new volunteers grouping themselves around Kingsley Shacklebolt at the head of the table, talking excitedly and surveying the plan of the building.

Sirius remained sitting where he was, unwelcome to join them as he knew he was, and unconcerned by their excitement as he tried to make himself believe. He stared at a point on the wall opposite and wished they'd all be gone soon. 

"Sirius?" said Remus Lupin's voice at his shoulder.

Sirius had not heard his friend walk over and take the empty seat next to him, but there he was. Sirius glanced at him briefly and went back to staring at the wall.

"Listen," Lupin said quietly.

"No," Sirius snarled. The cruel satisfaction the confrontation with Snape had given him hadn't lasted long - on the contrary, it had left him with a rather stale feeling, like a bad taste in his mouth. The last thing he needed now was a sermon from Lupin that his behaviour had been ridiculous. He knew that.

"Please," Lupin was saying.

"I don't want to hear anything." 

"Sirius - "

"No."

"I'll try and explain."

"What's there to explain?"

"A lot," Lupin said wearily. "See, maybe Tonks didn't tell you how – "

Now Sirius turned sharply to look at his friend, and finally realised that he and Lupin had been missing each other's point completely. Lupin had had no intention what so ever of preaching to him. On the contrary – he himself had a guilty conscience written all over his tired face, looking very much as if he expected Sirius to explode at any moment and was ready to take the blame for it. Sirius felt incredibly stupid. Lupin looked so weary, so exhausted, and Sirius had only added to his worries with his selfish impatience, with his childish jealousy, and he was adding to them even now with his thick-headed idiocy. And now Lupin was going to apologise to _him._ Sirius knew he couldn't bear to hear that.

"No. Yes. Forget it," he said quickly. "Don't say anything. Please. Forget it. Just forget it." 

"Forget what?" Tonks's voice behind them said cheerfully. "Anyone need a good memory charm?"

"Anyone need a good lesson against curiosity?" Sirius snarled back at her, but secretly, he was glad of the interruption. "What are you up to?"

"We're done getting the next week organized," Tonks said, waving vaguely at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was putting his parchments back into his briefcase while the rest of the Order filed out of the room. "And Molly's just gone to get her kids."

"And here they are," said Dumbledore's voice.

Molly Weasley was back, ushering her charges into the kitchen. They huddled closely together near the door, the girls already in their pyjamas, barefoot under their dressing gowns, but Sirius was quite sure that none of them had been asleep yet. They were staring at the witches and wizards in the room, wide-eyed and very much awake. Even the twins looked rather intimidated by the many known and unknown faces that had turned to them when they entered. Tonks was looking at them with open curiosity. Remus Lupin next to her was smiling, and Hermione caught his eye and returned his smile shyly. Moody was still in his chair at the table, surveying them sharply and looking rather displeased with what he saw. Kingsley Shacklebolt was looking at Ron and Hermione with narrowed eyes, as if he was trying to remember something.

"Good evening," Albus Dumbledore addressed himself kindly to the young Weasleys. "I won't keep you long. I'm sure your host here, and your mother, have already acquainted you with the peculiarities of this house, so I need not repeat to you to be quiet in the entrance hall, to be careful what you touch, and to be kind to the place's resident house-elf." He glanced at Sirius at these words, but Sirius pretended not to notice. "You have already learned that there are certain rules about life in this house," Dumbledore continued, "and I would like to remind you that they don't exist just to make life boring and dull, but to ensure everyone's safety, yours not least. I shall rely on you to understand and remember this. Your parents and your host should not have to remind you of it too often. You will have noticed that secrecy plays a vital part in these rules. Simply by staying in this house, you are being entrusted with a great secret, and you must keep it well. Now, you will want to keep in touch with your friends over the holidays, of course, and you may. But I must ask you to restrict the frequency of your communication to the necessary minimum where owl post to your friends orcustomers - " he gave Fred and George a very pointed look over the rim of his half-moon glasses "- is concerned. Owls attract a lot of attention." He smiled when he saw the dispirited look on the twins' faces. "I hereby accept full liability for any financial losses you might incur as a consequence of abiding to this rule," he said, and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses.

Mrs Weasley frowned, but she remained silent. 

"But more importantly," Dumbledore continued in a grave voice, "you must be careful _what _you put into your letters. I must impress on you that you are not to tell anyone – _anyone_ – either where you are, or why you are here, what you are doing, who else is here, and what anyone else is doing. I know this is hard, but there is no help for it. It is not safe to put any of it in writing. And there can be no exceptions to this rule."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick look. 

"I want you to give me your word that you won't do any of this," Dumbledore said. "Give me your word of honour as witches and wizards that you will not tell anyone about this place, and about what is going on here."

"But Harry," muttered Ron, "can't we tell Harry?"

Dumbledore frowned.

"Please," Hermione said in a small voice. "Just that we're… just that someone is… he's so desperate to know what's going on." A glance at Dumbledore's stern face told her that it was no good. She caught Sirius's eye, and gave him a look that was a desperate plea for support. But Sirius shook his head.

"I said there can be no exceptions," Dumbledore repeated. "And there can't. Do I have your promise?" He looked intently at each of them in turn with his clear blue eyes.

"Yes, we promise," Hermione finally said resignedly, leading a small chorus of voices that echoed hers.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said, and smiled again. "I knew I could rely on you. You'll be of great help to the Order of the Phoenix by being true to your word. Now, off you go to bed. Good night to all of you." 


	31. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

When the young Weasleys and Hermione had left the room, Dumbledore turned back towards the remaining members of the Order. "Thank you to you, too," he said gravely. "I hardly dare to imagine where matters might stand now if it hadn't been for you _all."_ He put the slightest emphasis on the last word. 

"That's all right," Kingsley Shacklebolt said lightly, closing his briefcase with a snap.  

"Only doing our duty," Moody grumbled, getting to his feet. 

"'t's a pleasure," Mundungus Fletcher's voice came out of his corner. 

"Well, then," Dumbledore said, "I must be on my way. I hope we're prepared as well as possible now for the next few days, but in case anything out of the way happens and you need to contact me, I'll be at the International Confederation of Wizards' conference over the weekend."

"Good luck, Albus," Lupin said quietly.

"Yes, good luck," the others echoed him.

Dumbledore smiled, if a little wearily. "We shall see," he said. "Good night." Accompanied by Mrs Weasley, he left the kitchen, and the door fell closed behind him.

"He wasn't talking about _you_," Moody snapped at Mundungus Fletcher.

"How d'you know?" Mundungus asked. "Ah, righ', if he'd known what I've got 'ere, he wouldn' just 'ave said thank you, he'd 'ave stayed right 'ere." He picked up his cardboard box from under his chair, and carried it over to the table. "I'll leave this with you then," he said, lifting the box onto the table with a soft clanking sound. "I don' like bein' dry for too long, I figured you didn' like it either. One of 'em's for me, to cover me expenses."

"What's in there?" Tonks asked curiously.

"What expenses?" Moody asked sharply. 

"Lil' bonus for occupational hazards, guv," Mundungus grinned at him. "Same as they pay you chaps at the Ministry. Help yourselves." With a grand gesture, he opened the mysterious box and invited them to take a look.

Tonks peered inside. "Wow," she said, producing a bottle of red wine from it. "A round dozen."

Kingsley came to her side, looked appreciatively at Mundungus's gift, and turned to the rest of the group. "What do you say, anyone care for a glass right now?"

"Oh yes," Tonks said eagerly. Sirius went to fetch some goblets before Tonks could produce any broken glass. 

"Do we have a corkscrew anywhere?" she asked, rummaging in the cutlery drawers.

"A what?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked back.

"A corkscrew," she said, waving her left hand in the air, making a twisting movement with her wrist. "You know, what Muggles use for –"

"For what?"

Tonks turned back to them just as Kingsley Shacklebolt was pulling his wand away from the wine bottle with a little _pop_, the cork sitting on the tip. He twisted it off and threw it into the fire. 

"You've got style," Tonks said admiringly.

"You can have some style with next bottle, if you like," Kingsley offered.

"Snap my wand in half in the process, that'd be _my_ style," Tonks replied. "I think I'll leave the showing off to you."  

Shacklebolt grinned good-naturedly and started filling the goblets Sirius had placed on the table. He offered the first to Mundungus, who waved it aside.

"Nope. I've got to be goin'. Urgen' business, y'know. I'll see you aroun'." One of the remaining bottles vanished without trace in one of the bottomless pockets of Mundungus Fletcher's overlarge coat. He tapped his forehead in a mock salute, and left.

"Cheers, Mundungus!" Tonks called after him. 

"I'll have his," said Sirius.

"No, I will," Lupin said quickly, taking the goblet out of Kingsley's hand. "You're not getting any wine tonight, Sirius, you've already talked enough nonsense."

"You can say that again," Moody grumbled, giving Sirius a dirty look.

"He _asked _for it," Sirius shot back, making a grab for the wine, but Lupin held it out of his reach. 

"I don't recall that."

"You weren't _listening."_

"Careful, you two," Kingsley warned them, and handed Sirius one of the other goblets. "There'll be enough for everyone, if you don't spill it all. Moody?"

"No thanks," Moody grumbled. "I know better than to drink anything of dodgy origin."

"Dodgy origin?" Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows and looked at the label on the bottle he was holding. "It says here, _Cabernet Sauvignon,_ _Appellation Contrôlée Premières Côtes de Bordeaux, Mis en Bouteille au Château. _You call that _dodgy?"_

"I'd call that French," said Sirius dryly.

"What does it mean, Kingsley?" Tonks asked.

"It means that _I _couldn't afford even one bottle of it, not even for Christmas," Lupin said cheerfully, drawing up a chair to sit at the fireplace. 

Sirius followed his friend's example. "I wonder where Dung got this stuff from," he said, sniffing at the wine.

"You don't want to know," Moody grumbled, but he joined them by the fire all the same, producing his hip flask from a pocket of his robes. "Probably couldn't get rid of it at a profit. Now he's using you to destroy the evidence."

"Oh, I'm very willing to be used in this way," Kingsley chuckled. 

"You know what that's called in wizarding law, don't you?" Moody growled. "Suppressing evidence? Perverting the course of justice, that's what it's called." 

"Don't report me, Tonks," Kingsley said lightly.

"I won't," she laughed, and drew up two more chairs. Shacklebolt put the bottle within reach on the table and sat down on Moody's right side. Tonks took the remaining place between Kingsley and Lupin in the middle of their little semi-circle. They settled down comfortably, stretching out their feet towards the warmth of the crackling fire, sipping at their wine, all of them relaxing properly for the first time in days.

Kingsley leant back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "What a week," he said with a sigh.

Tonks yawned hugely. "I'm so glad it's over."

"What a soft lot you are," Moody muttered, stretching out his stiff wooden leg with a groan.

"As in, get drunk on stolen wine, but can't do without sleep for more than three nights in a row?" Sirius asked in a mocking tone. 

"_You_ can talk," Moody snarled at him. 

"Don't – " Lupin said warningly, but Sirius only shrugged. 

"I suppose someone's got to stay at home and look after the kids," he said with a wry grin.

"Hear, hear!" Tonks applauded him.

"Don't envy us, Sirius," said Lupin wearily. "Not as long as Alastor's in charge of this madness anyway. I can't see anyone survive a year of Auror training under him, let alone three." 

"I know someone who did," Kingsley Shacklebolt remarked. "But only just about."

Moody only grunted. 

"Moody, we know everything was better in the old days," Tonks teased him. "It's not like we aren't doing our best. At least we now know what we're doing it for."

"Do we really?" Kingsley asked thoughtfully. "I must admit, I don't really feel we're any wiser than before. All this stuff about You Know Who using a prophecy as a weapon. A prophecy, I ask you. Lots of people don't even believe in them."

"Dumbledore wouldn't make such a fuss about it if he didn't think it was really important though," Sirius objected. "He knows he can't afford to waste our time and energy. _Your_ time and energy, sorry."

"Then why was he so reluctant to tell us about it at all?" Tonks asked. "If I'm supposed to risk my neck, I'd like to know what I'm doing it for."

"For our cause_, _that's what you're doing it for," Moodysnapped at her. 

"Yeah, I know, keep your head down, follow your orders and don't ask any questions!" Tonks retorted rather heatedly. "Can I remind you that I'm here privately and I'm _volunteering_ to do all this?"

"You're quite right, Tonks," Lupin agreed quietly. "Look, Alastor, you can't expect people to risk their lives and their freedom if you don't give them a good reason why they should." 

"And at least for the practical side of things," Kingsley added, "you said so yourself, Moody, it was absurd to be sitting there guarding we didn't know what." 

Moody didn't reply. It was as close as he'd ever get to admitting that the others were right and he was not.

"Did even Dumbledore know it right from the start?" Sirius wondered. 

"Yeah, and how did he hear of it in the first place?" Tonks asked. "He was talking about protecting his sources. It's not one of us, is it? Kingsley, did _you_ know about the reform of the Ministry Departments?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "No, I didn't. His source must be someone pretty high up in the Ministry, to get wind of it so early."

Sirius and Lupin exchanged a look, both remembering what Minerva McGonagall had reported to Dumbledore more than a week ago, and both wondering if Amelia Bones had recently had another visitor for tea. But none of them spoke.

"And the prophecy itself," Tonks continued, "all right, so we can't know what it says, but what about this other person it speaks of? The one that would be in danger if You Know Who knew about him? Could that be Dumbledore himself?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't need our protection if it was him," Moody objected. "He is the only one You Know Who ever feared."

"It can't be anyone from the Order," Kingsley said slowly, "or Dumbledore wouldn't have insisted that we can't tell anyone _else_ about all this. That was what he seemed most worried about, that someone _outside _the Order would find out. So it can't be one of us, but chances are that it's someone we know, someone wecould have told if he hadn't warned us not to."

Another look went back and forth between Sirius and Lupin, and by the same silent understanding they agreed not to drag Harry Potter's name into this either. 

"It's no use speculating," Moody muttered. "Dumbledore will have his reasons, he always has."

They fell silent, sipping at their wine again and looking into the fire. 

"This wine is so good," Kingsley said appreciatively, and Moody rolled his mismatched eyes.

Lupin turned to Sirius. "How's it going with the Weasley family in here?"

"Fine," Sirius replied curtly.

"Arthur told us about Percy. Awful." 

"Could have taken a much worse turn for us, though. At least he's out of our way now." 

"That's cruel, Sirius," Tonks protested. "I'm so sorry for the kids. I've got to meet them properly soon. They look like a really sweet lot, don't they?"

Lupin gave a short laugh. "A sweet lot, especially the twins," he said resignedly. "You get to know them a little, and I'll ask you again about sweet."

"Why?"

"That's speaking as their former teacher," Lupin explained. "I don't know how they're at home, but at school, they're legendary troublemakers. Try to keep them in check, you'll be fighting a losing battle. I don't know anyone who has tried who hasn't given up. And they know that very well, and have a cunning talent for making the best of it, or rather the worst. They kept reminding me forcefully of you and James, Sirius. Gifted but lazy. Every teacher's nightmare."

"Thanks a lot," said Sirius dryly.

"Sweet or not," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, "they're a brave lot, so much is clear. Particularly Ron Weasley and the other girl, his friend from school, what was her name again? First going secretly after a mad mass murderer, Sirius will excuse the expression, and then standing up to twenty Ministry wizards at the Quidditch World Cup, where, I've just remembered, I've actually seen them before."

"Oh, don't remind me of the Quidditch World Cup!" Tonks exclaimed dramatically.

"Why, were you supporting Bulgaria?" Lupin asked innocently. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt chuckled. "The Quidditch World Cup was the first time Tonks went into action with us after she'd qualified. And it was the grandest entrance into Auror service I've ever seen."

"Don't say that!" Tonks cried, her face a very bright shade of red. "Don't make fun of me! It was dreadful!"

"What happened?" Sirius inquired curiously. "Come on, Tonks, tell us."

"It was like Kingsley says," Tonks said reluctantly. "The first operation I was involved in. And it was horrible. I messed up completely."

"Oh no, you didn't," Kingsley said firmly. "It was a baptism of fire, Tonks, and you rose to the occasion magnificently. If anyone messed up, it was us others, everyone _except_ you."

"And what exactly did you others mess up?" Sirius asked.

"The Dark Mark," Kingsley explained. "You know about this unpleasant scene after the World Cup final, when some Death Eaters had a little get-together, and it turned into an ugly bit of Muggle hunting? And then the Dark Mark appeared in the sky? That was about the only scenario that didn't feature in what must have been the most concise security strategy we've ever come up with for an event like this, but of course it was the one that had to happen. There was no coordination at all, all the Aurors just Disapparated away from the scene of the action to catch the culprit, and Tonks was the only one of us who kept a cool head and stayed behind to take care of the Death Eaters."

"It wasn't like that," Tonks corrected him unhappily. "I just stayed behind because I had missed that I was supposed to go elsewhere."

"Don't be so modest, Tonks," Kingsley grinned. "You did exactly the right thing. You should have seen her," he told the others, "our Tonks, left alone in command of the Ministry's entire Magical Law Enforcement corps, plus two dozen volunteers. She was brilliant. She was a natural. She directed a battle like a seasoned general, and that was like, what, two weeks after she'd qualified? I've never seen her shout like that again."

A hearty laugh went around their little group.

"I never knew that," Moody grumbled, unable to hide how impressed he was. Sirius felt a sudden fierce pride of his cousin standing her ground when the best of them had lost their heads. 

"It's not funny!" Tonks cried. "I really had no idea what I was doing. I suddenly found myself out there on the campsite, the only Auror for about a mile around, with the Death Eaters still on the loose and the poor Muggles still up in the air, and none of my superiors left to take charge, and all the other Ministry people shouting at _me_ for orders. So I just shouted some orders back, but it didn't work at all. It was complete and utter chaos, people running everywhere and bumping into each other and getting hit by stray spells, it was a nightmare. In the end, all the Death Eaters got clean away. We didn't catch any of them. Not one. It was a disgrace. Dawlish went absolutely ballistic. He gave me such a talking to afterwards, I think I cried."

"And then _I_ gave Dawlish a talking to about what I thought of him having a go at the best Auror in my squad instead of kicking himself as he ought to have, if you'll remember," Kingsley reminded her. "At least you got the Muggles safely back to the ground. The _real_ disgrace was our great official security coordinator making the beginner's mistake of abandoning an operation without putting anyone else in charge of sorting it out. Well, he knows that, I told him as much. If Britain ever gets to host the World Cup again after this, we'll make sure to put _you_ in charge of security, Tonks, not Dawlish."

 "I hope that never happens," said Tonks, but she had calmed down a little, the blush slowly fading from her face. Remus Lupin was gazing into the fire, smiling to himself and shaking his head.

"More wine?" Kingsley asked pleasantly, getting up to fetch a new bottle from the table. 

"Yes," Moody said to everyone's surprise, "after that story, I'll have some. To drink to the health of the only one of your lot that still truly deserves to be called an Auror." He gave Kingsley a look of profound contempt. "Shame on the rest of you, Shacklebolt."


	32. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

"Talking of the Quidditch World Cup," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, resuming his seat after they had all raised their goblets in a toast to a very embarrassed Tonks, "and of incompetent Aurors – " he gave Moody a grin "- Sirius, I was going to ask you, since I've got to be seen doing something to push the investigation a little - have you ever been to Tibet?"

Sirius was rather taken aback by the question. "Tibet? No. Why?"

"Like the Ministry to think that's where you are?"

"Yeah, sure. Anywhere, really, except here."

"I figured that Tibet would be a good option. It's conveniently far away, and I have a colleague and friend at the Ministry of Magic there. I met him at the World Cup, really nice chap, and between us we could easily produce a nice batch of official looking correspondence for the files, enough to keep me busy for a few weeks."

"You know a Tibetan Auror?" Tonks asked, sounding very impressed. 

"Well, he's not an Auror in the strict sense. The Tibetans don't really believe in law enforcement, not the way we do," Kingsley explained. "I don't think I really got it when he tried to explain it to me, but it sounded like they believe more in a balance of good and evil, and rely on the power of the mind, rather than their wands, to maintain it. It all starts with keeping light and darkness in balance within yourself, apparently. It sounded like quite a fascinating concept."

Moody snorted. 

"No, some of it is worth giving a second thought, really," Shacklebolt insisted. "They rely a lot on negotiation, too, rather than confrontation. That does have its advantages in some situations."

"You don't negotiate with a Death Eater," Sirius said grimly. 

"If Albus Dumbledore hadn't negotiated with a Death Eater many years ago, Sirius," said Lupin quietly, "I very much doubt that either of us would still be alive today." 

There was a heavy silence.

"Would you say that's a good plan, Sirius?" Kingsley asked finally.

Sirius came out of his thoughts. "Yeah, of course. Great idea. Whatever."

"And you've definitely never been to Tibet before?"

"No, I haven't, I told you."

"It wouldn't do for any of our evidence to turn out to be real, you know."

"Come to think of it," Moody said suddenly, "always meant to ask, where _were _you when they were hunting for you, Sirius? After your escape from Azkaban, I mean?"

"Trade secrets."

"Come on."

"The Forbidden Forest."

Kingsley Shacklebolt almost choked on his wine. 

"What?" Tonks exclaimed. "But Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade, the whole place was _teeming _with Dementors!"

"I noticed that," said Sirius dryly.

"I don't believe it!" Kingsley set his goblet down, still trying to recover his breath. "You were there all the time? The whole year?"

"I had to get into Hogwarts somehow, didn't I?"

"Without a wand?" Kingsley threw his head back and laughed. "You're _mad_, Black."

Sirius shrugged. "I had priorities, that was all."

"That's what I mean," Kingsley chuckled. They were all laughing now. 

"What happened to your wand, by the way?" Tonks asked. "Did they snap it in half when you – you know - ?"

"Oh, that's another really dodgy chapter in the whole story," said Kingsley, serious again. "They lost it. It's gone."

Sirius, Lupin and Moody exchanged amused looks. "Are you sure?" Lupin asked innocently.

"I asked about the wand when I took over the files two years ago, and it wasn't there," Kingsley explained. "I never got a definite answer what had happened to it. But if it had been destroyed, there should have been a record of it in the files, and there's simply nothing in there. It must have got lost somewhere in the wheels of Ministry bureaucracy."

"That's what _you_ think, Shacklebolt," Moody growled.

"What do you mean?"

"He means that's not what happened to it," Sirius said, leant past Lupin, and lazily pointed his wand at the bottle on the table. "_Accio_ _wine bottle_." The bottle skidded across the wooden surface and zoomed neatly into his outstretched hand. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt's eyes travelled from the bottle in Sirius's left hand to the wand in his right, putting two and two together. "You're kidding," he said. "This isn't - _"_

Sirius refilled his goblet. "Yes it is," he said. "More wine, anyone?"

"Yes," Kingsley said quickly, holding out his own goblet. "Definitely. Merlin's beard, if the Ministry knew this. How did you ever get it back?"

"I took it," Moody said bluntly, "and gave it to Albus Dumbledore for safe-keeping. And he's seen fit to return it to its owner. And now I'm afraid I'll have to kill you, Shacklebolt, to make sure you don't go blabbing about it at the Ministry. I don't want to lose my pension."

Kingsley let out another hearty laugh. "I'll be as silent as a grave. But you've got some nerve," he said, shaking his head at Moody. "Steal evidence from the Ministry and then lecture _us_ on perverting the course of justice!"

Now it was Moody's turn to laugh, but his laugh was very bitter. "Not much justice left to pervert in Sirius's case, was there?" he growled. "What do you need evidence for when you don't have a trial? As soon as it was clear that they were going to chuck Sirius into Azkaban without bothering the Wizengamot about a verdict, Dumbledore asked me to get hold of the wand, and so I did. Of course they noticed it had gone missing, but luckily all these amateurs at the Ministry were far too keen to hush up what they thought was their own blunder, instead of investigating the incident properly. They were extremely helpful in making sure it was soon forgotten." He snorted derisively.

"I can't believe it was that easy."

"Oh, it was," Moody grumbled. "Security gaps and incomplete documentation everywhere. Pathetic." 

"What did Dumbledore want with Sirius's wand?" Tonks asked. 

_"Priori Incantatem,"_ Lupin muttered.

"_Priori Incantatem?_ Wasn't that the first thing the Ministry checked when Sirius was arrested?"

"Was it?" Lupin asked Kingsley. 

"Ah, that's the other great unanswered question. We don't know. There's nothing about that in the files either. I remember that, that was actually why I'd asked about the wand in the first place."

"You'd think that's more than just a minor blunder though," Tonks said, shaking her head. "I can't believe they didn't check that. I mean, as criminal evidence in court, it's irrefutable. It would have proved your innocence, Sirius."

"I know," said Sirius tonelessly, staring into the fire.

"Talking of covering up their own blunders," Kingsley wondered quietly, "could it be that they _did_ check it, and that was the _reason _why they never gave you a proper trial?"

Another heavy silence descended on the group. 

"God, that's sick," Tonks whispered.

Sirius turned sharply towards her, the flickering firelight casting deep shadows on his grim face. "What did you expect?"

"The trouble is that we simply don't know," Lupin said quietly. "But I think Dumbledore guessed that the wand would go conveniently missing at some point, he just made sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands."

"Didn't _he _ever check it?" Tonks asked.

"And then left me rotting in Azkaban for twelve years although he knew the truth?" Sirius said sarcastically.

"But he must at least have tried?"

Sirius made no answer. Had he, indeed? Dumbledore had, for more than twelve years, been in possession of the one piece of evidence that might have established Sirius's innocence – and yet, was it possible that he had never even _tried _to find out what it could tell him? _I learned the truth about a day fourteen years ago_, Sirius recalled Dumbledore's words at the new Order's first meeting, _a truth that we all failed to see back then, and that we never bothered to uncover afterwards. We were blinded, content to trust our eyes, rather than our hearts, which spoke so differently._ The words were edged deeply into his memory, and they had given him so much comfort when he had first heard them spoken, but now, they were taking on a very different and very unsettling meaning. _A truth we never bothered to uncover afterwards_, they echoed in his head. He felt his stomach turn over. Twelve lost years, wasted years, stolen years. All because Albus Dumbledore had never _bothered?_

"What makes you think he didn't?" Lupin's voice rose over his thoughts. "Remember, Tonks, the _Priori Incantatem_ is infallible, but it only works once. Dumbledore must have tried to get an answer out of the wand, but if the Ministry did it first, it couldn't tell him anything any more."

"Then why did he still keep it all these years?"

"I believe that was because he never really gave up hope," said Lupin, and smiled a smile that warmed Sirius's heart.

Sirius looked down at the wand he was still holding in his hand, scratched and worn from age and long use, but unbroken, a token of trust against all reason and of hope against all odds. 

"Keep it safe," Moody said gravely. "Who knows, one day it might still provide an answer that nobody will dare to question any more."

There was a very long silence. Then Sirius put his wand away, picked up his goblet and raised it to his friends. "To old times reborn," he said quietly. 

Moody returned the salute, and so did Tonks and Kingsley. Sirius turned towards Lupin, who hadn't moved. His friend's head had sunk forward onto his chest, his greying hair falling over his face. 

"Remus?" Sirius put his hand on a limp arm. "_Remus?_ What's wrong?"

"He's just asleep," Tonks whispered.


	33. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

The next morning, Sirius overslept hopelessly. He was only slowly rising back to the surface of a sea of deep and dreamless sleep when his ears picked up the sound of a door opening. There was a surprised little "oh", and before Sirius could open his eyes, the door had closed again, and in less than half a minute, he had sunk back into sleep. After another hour that felt like only a short moment, he woke again, this time from a brisk knock on the study door. He was quickly awake and alert now. "Come in," he called, sitting up on his sofa. The door opened, and framed in the doorway were Ron and Hermione, Hermione looking as embarrassed as Ron looked amused. 

"Good morning," said Ron. "Mum says if you want breakfast before lunch, you've got to get up now."

Hermione scowled at Ron, but Sirius laughed, shook his hair out of his eyes and got to his feet.

"We're very sorry," Hermione said apologetically. "I just wanted to bring back the books from yesterday, and look at some more." 

"You're welcome to," said Sirius. His eyes fell on the pile of books and parchments in the corner under the window. "Anyone know where Kreacher is? He's got to get this old stuff out of the way." 

But before either of them could reply, Sirius remembered that Kreacher must still be in the bathroom where he had locked him in the night before, and accompanied by his young friends, he went to rescue the house-elf from his captivity. The moment he opened the bathroom door, Sirius was instantly showered with a new series of muttered insults, and he promptly regretted that he hadn't just left the elf to starve to death in there.

"Oh," Hermione said pityingly, "I think he really is out of his mind, Sirius, maybe he was cold and afraid in there, he doesn't know what he's saying." 

"He does," said Sirius grumpily. "He's probably spent the whole night thinking up new names to call me, he just had to try them all out straight away." He instructed Kreacher to find a sack and get rid of the old books, and went to face Mrs Weasley's displeasure next.

But Mrs Weasley didn't look displeased, she looked positively distraught when Sirius came down to the kitchen. Her eyes were red and swollen as if she'd cried recently, and her brow was furrowed with deep lines of worry. It was instantly clear that there must be more behind her distress than just Sirius sleeping till noon. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Mrs Weasley, avoiding his eyes, practically ran past him out of the kitchen, and Sirius could do nothing but shake his head at her abrupt departure. 

Sirius didn't bother to sit down for a cheerless solitary meal, but went back to the habit of wandering through the house with a mug of tea in one and a piece of toast in the other hand to see what his housemates were up to. He met Kreacher again on the second landing. The house-elf was dragging a dusty sack behind him with hands that bore some angry welts and cuts to prove that not all the books had let themselves be thrown out without putting up a struggle.

"Oh, old Master loved his books, and now his ungrateful brat makes Kreacher throw them out, the filthy scum, poor Kreacher." He passed Sirius without looking up, and disappeared down the stairs, the sack bumping along behind him. Sirius's eyes narrowed. The sack looked far too small to hold all the books he had decided to throw out. A quick look into the study told him that he was right. The corner under the window was empty, but there were far fewer gaps on the shelves now than the merciless clear out on the day before had left there.

"Is anything wrong?" said Hermione's voice behind him. She was coming down from her own room with her spellbooks under one arm and an assortment of quills and parchment under the other. Sirius hastily shook his head, knowing only too well that where books were concerned, Kreacher would more than definitely have the House Elf Liberation Front on his side.

* * *

Hermione spent most of the day, and indeed almost the whole weekend, sitting in the study, researching something that she kept very secret, covering her parchment and snapping her books shut whenever someone came into the room, vaguely muttering "homework" when asked what she was doing. 

The young Weasleys found far less studious, but equally enthusiastic ways of making themselves at home at No. 12, Grimmauld Place. Mrs Weasley kept reminding them to be quiet and careful, but there was always a certain level of noise and excitement in the house now that no warnings and no scolding could subdue.  

Fred and George, Sirius learned when he and Ron helped them clear out junk from their room, had brought half their trunks full of colourful sweets and toys and funny looking instruments. In conspiratorial whispers, they confided the details of their joke shop plans to Sirius, and gave him a spectacular show demonstrating the uses and effects of their products, which only ended when Mrs Weasley came to investigate the source of their howls of laughter, and promptly went into a long sermon about which jobs made you a useful member of the wizarding society, and which didn't. 

Mrs Weasley's mood didn't brighten when on Saturday afternoon, an overexcited Pigwidgeon escaped from Ron's room and flitted madly through the whole house, hitting chandeliers and brushing curtains, leaving thick clouds of dust behind, hooting shrilly and refusing to let himself be caught. He only fled back into the safety of Ron's hands after he'd almost got crushed by a very angry bedside cabinet in Ron's parents' room, which had lashed out viciously with its door when the tiny owl whizzed past. 

Crookshanks topped it all when just before dinner on that day, George quite unintentionally stepped on a dungbomb outside the kitchen door that the cat had rolled all the way downstairs. It went off with a squelchand gave Mrs Weasley a reason to shout for ten minutes straight. 

But Sirius didn't mind these disturbances half as much as she did. On the contrary, with five young people, a cat and an owl in the house, No. 12, Grimmauld Place, was beginning to feel almost like a normal place to live.

It was Monday before anyone else from the Order, apart from Mr Weasley, looked in again at all, but Sirius didn't mind that either. He often thought of his friends on guard in the dark Ministry corridor, but neither with the sickening worry nor with the fierce jealousy that he had felt before. They knew now what they were doing, and so did he, and despite the fact that the danger hadn't lessened, his heart was much lighter for it.

Late on Monday afternoon, a rather tired Bill Weasley turned up at number twelve, and had hardly closed the front door behind him when his younger brothers and sister came thundering down the stairs and positively fell upon him, not heeding their mother's call for silence in the entrance hall. Bill grinned at them broadly and hugged them all in turn. "There you are," he said cheerfully. "And the house still standing. Well done." 

"Where have you been, Bill?" Ginny asked excitedly, hanging onto his arm. "Why didn't you say hello on Friday?"

Mrs Weasley looked at her daughter with suspiciously narrowed eyes.

"Was I here on Friday?" Bill said innocently. "I can hardly remember. So much to do. Lots of work at the bank." He gave his mother a reassuring smile over his sister's head.

"Oh yeees," Fred squealed in an unnaturally high voice, faking a French accent. "Our Beelly 'as zo much work to do, pooor boy!"

"Shut it, you," Bill snarled at his brother, but in a good-natured way, and disentangled himself from Ginny.

"Any news, Bill?" Sirius asked, and the smile instantly disappeared from Bill's face. 

"Oh, there is," he said. "Haven't you heard it yet?" He reached into the pocket of his cloak and produced a newspaper from it.

"Not here, Bill," Mrs Weasley said sharply.

"Mum, if it's in the _Daily Prophet_, it's not a secret," George protested.

"What's happened?" Sirius asked urgently. 

Bill handed him the paper. "Read for yourself," he said, taking off his cloak and loosening his Gringotts tie while Sirius opened the paper and looked at the headline. _International Confederation of Wizards Elects New Chairmanship Panel. Albus Dumbledore Resigns after Worst Election Results in Forty Years, _itblared in big letters.

"Oh no."

"It's not a really big surprise though, is it?" Bill remarked resignedly. "After what happened in the Wizengamot the week before last."

"But you'd think that he'd get a bit more support internationally," said Mrs Weasley sadly, glancing over Sirius's arm at the headline. "Not every country in the world has a Fudge and a _Daily Prophet_."

"No, but not every country has had a Voldemort either, and knows what it means," Sirius said bitterly, ignoring everyone else's unease at hearing the name spoken. "And Fudge's arm seems to have grown longer than we think," he added, looking over the article. "It says here, _overwhelming international support for new British candidates… Ministry now very well represented in Chairmanship to reflect __Britain__'s importance as one of the world's leading magical nations,_ leading magical dimwits they mean… _Dumbledore… long-winded speech revolving around fixed idea of the return of Him Who_ blah blah… _apparently losing touch with real concerns of magical community worldwide… might be first symptoms of rapidly developing senility, insiders hint…_ "

"Senility!" Fred roared. 

_"... Worst re-election results for Dumbledore in forty years on the Chairmanship panel… vast majority votes against him… admits defeat… Order of Merlin to reconsider …Bah."_

"What?" Hermione exclaimed. "They can't take his Order of Merlin away!"

"They can do much more than that," Bill said darkly. 

"No they _can't_," Hermione insisted. "It's in their statutes. Once awarded, it can never be taken away again."

"Well, that's a relief," Sirius said sarcastically. "If things keep going downhill at this rate, his Order of Merlin will soon be the only comfort Dumbledore's got left." 

"And the chocolate frog collecting cards," Bill reminded him with a wry grin. 

Sirius folded the paper and threw it to George, who caught it eagerly. "Any other bad news, Bill?" 

"Not as far as I know," Bill replied. "All quiet back there."

"Back where?" Fred asked quickly.

"Nowhere," said Bill. "What's for dinner?"


	34. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

They had hardly sat down together at the dinner table when they heard the front door open again. 

"That's got to be Dad!" Ginny exclaimed excitedly. 

They listened to the footsteps crossing the hall over their heads. There was a sudden dull _thud_, and a muffled curse. 

"No, that's Tonks," said Sirius.

"Who's Tonks?" Ron inquired curiously. 

"An Auror." 

The faces of the young Weasleys instantly assumed an expression of deep awe. 

"Wait and see," Sirius said, and with great amusement watched their jaws drop when the kitchen door opened and the Auror looked in. As if to make his point, Tonks looked as little as the average witch's or wizard's idea of an awe-inspiring law enforcement officer as possible today. She was in her faded jeans and Quidditch t-shirt again, and her hair, sticking up wildly in all directions, was a screaming pink.

"Hi there!" she called cheerfully from the door. "Sorry to disrupt your dinner – I just thought I'd look in quickly to say that – "

"Come in and take a seat, Tonks," Mrs Weasley invited her kindly.

Tonks closed the door and came over to join them at the table. Five pairs of very wide eyes followed every of her moves. Bill drew up a chair for her. 

"What's your news?"

"Would you like to eat with us?"

"You'rean _Auror?"_

Sirius, Mrs Weasley and Ron had all spoken at the same time.

"Let her breathe," Bill said, but Tonks laughed. 

"News comes first. Molly, Arthur says to tell you he won't be back before ten tonight. We've changed to eight-hour shifts for guard duty now. So I'm going to relieve him at ten and –"

"Tonks!" Mrs Weasley interrupted her, glancing uneasily at her children. 

"Oh," Tonks said, and blushed. "Sorry about that."

"What guard duty?" George asked quickly. "You Aurors are guarding something?"

"Yes," Tonks said gravely, "we guard secrets."

The young Weasleys looked very disappointed.

"But our dad's not an Auror," Ginny pointed out.

Mrs Weasley frowned at her. "Would you please be so kind and get a plate and goblet for Tonks, Ginny," she said rather loudly, and Ginny scowled and got up to do as she was bid.  

"Is Tonks your real name?" Hermione asked Tonks curiously. 

Sirius and Bill grinned at each other across the table. "No, it's –" Bill began.

"Shut _up,_ you two." 

"- it's really Nymphadora," Sirius finished, ignoring her protest. "And as you can see she really loves her name."

"Why not?" asked Ginny, setting a plate and goblet on the table in front of Tonks. "Nymphadora's a beautiful name." 

"Not for me," said Tonks.

"Yes it is," Ginny insisted. "I'll call you Nymphadora."

"If you do," Tonks threatened, "I'll call _you_ Virginia. Would you like that any better?"

But Ginny, looking positively terrified at the idea, shook her head vigorously and made no more objections.

A moment later, the issue of names was forgotten, and Fred, George and Ron had completely hogged Tonks's attention, firing questions about her job at her at a speed that made it almost impossible for her to answer them all, let alone eat. 

"Good heavens," Bill said to his mother over the excited babble of his brothers' voices. "I think it was a wise decision not to go into that job, wasn't it, Mum?" 

"Oh right," Hermione said to him, "Bill, why didn't _you _go into Auror training? With your NEWTs, they were probably begging you to!"

"Gringotts paid more," Bill grinned.

* * *

These little dinner parties soon became a tradition at No. 12, Grimmauld Place. Several times over the next week, one or more members of the Order looked in on their way to the Ministry, or on their way back, and were invited to stay for a bite. With their guard duty down to three shifts per day instead of four, things had calmed down a little. By the end of that week, after nothing at all had happened to confirm Dumbledore's fears of an imminent attack, Moody even announced that one person on guard at a time would suffice for the moment, and that was an even greater relief. Remus Lupin spent more time at Grimmauld Place again, often looking in on Hermione in the study where she sat with her books, and always found time to discuss with her the obscure magical phenomena that she came across in some of them. Tonks turned up fairly regularly, too, occasionally joining Sirius and the young Weasleys in their task of clearing out the house, which was still far from finished. Once Hermione had deduced from her daily changes of appearance that she must be a Metamorphmagus, Tonks was more welcome as a dinner guest than ever, and frequently provided the evening's entertainment by growing funny noses and creating wild hairstyles for them to laugh at.

Mrs Weasley never seemed entirely happy to see her charges mixing so much with the Order, but she didn't protest. Sirius couldn't help thinking that she tolerated it mainly for his sake, knowing how much their company meant to him. In exchange, he made a point of seeing to it that they weren't too often tempted to break the promise they had made to Albus Dumbledore. 

"No you can't," he told Ron and Hermione when they asked him, for about the hundredth time in a week, whether they couldn't at least tell Harry they were no longer at home, but busy helping the people who were working hard to stop You Know Who.

They sat facing each other across the end of the kitchen table, Ron and Hermione on one side, Sirius on the other, Sirius and Hermione each with a piece of parchment in front of them. It was the eve of the 31st of July, Harry's fifteenth birthday, and they were in the process of writing their birthday greetings to him, taking great care that nothing in their letters would tell Harry that they had been written with their authors literally looking over each other's shoulder. Sirius repeatedly shook his head at the absurdity of the situation. 

Bill and his parents were at the other end of the table, Bill and Mr Weasley each reading a part of the _Daily Prophet_, and Mrs Weasley darning socks. Tonks and Ginny sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. They had rolled an old sock that was torn beyond repair into a ball, and were throwing it back and forth between them while Crookshanks was trying to catch it. 

"Oh all right," Hermione sighed. "Poor Harry, I'm really getting tired of telling him that we can't tell him anything." 

"Don't think that I'm not," Sirius grunted, looking over his own letter which was just as vague as the ones he had sent before.

"Write that Harry's going to come and join us soon," Ron instructed Hermione, and she nodded and resumed her writing. "He is, isn't he, Mum?" Ron asked his mother, also for the hundredth time in a week. "Dumbledore said it was OK that he was going to come to The Burrow some time in August, why can't he come here?"

Mrs Weasley looked up from her needlework, and shook her head. "Because this is not The Burrow, Ron," she said firmly. "Besides, I don't think Harry _should_ be here," she added with a sceptical glance at Sirius.

"I actually think he shouldn't be anywhere _but_ here," Sirius said rather loudly. "If anyone belongs in the Order of the Phoenix, it's him, after all that he's done."

"Sirius," Mrs Weasley said wearily, "Harry is under age, Harry is fourteen, Harry belongs with his _family."_

Sirius gave a snort. "_They're_ not his family. They're only relations. Ask Harry who he thinks his real family is."

"You know very well," Mrs Weasley replied, "that this has very little to do with what Harry thinks_."_

"Yeah, that's exactly the point," Sirius said stubbornly. "None of you care, none of you even _know_ what he thinks, what he must feel like right now."

"Oh, but you do?" Mrs Weasley snapped, shaking off the hand that her husband had put on her arm. 

"At least _I _can put myself into his place. Trust me, I don't find that very hard."

Ron and Hermione exchanged an uncomfortable look. Tonks and Ginny had stopped in their little game, ignoring Crookshanks who was pawing at them to continue. 

"Sirius, Harry is not going to come here just because you're being _selfish._" Mrs Weasley said sharply. 

Sirius gave a short, bitter laugh. "Selfish, am I?" He threw down his quill, crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Since when has it been selfish to care about the happiness of another person?"

"This is not so much about happiness," Arthur Weasley said in a very quiet voice, "as about staying alive."

There was a heavy silence. Then, Sirius picked up his quill again, signed his finished letter with so much vigour he almost tore the parchment, threw the quill back down on the table, and turned away from the others to stare broodingly into the fire. 

Tonks and Ginny slowly returned to their game, Bill and his father to the paper, and Mrs Weasley to her socks. 

"Mrs Weasley," Hermione said timidly after a moment, "I've been meaning to ask, can _I _stay on after the sixth of August?"

"What's on the sixth of August?" Bill asked. 

"It's the day my parents come back from America," Hermione said unhappily. "I was supposed to go back home then, and stop being a burden to Mr and Mrs Weasley, but now I really don't want to leave."

"Oh, you're not a burden, dear," Mrs Weasley said kindly. "Are you sure though that your parents will be entirely happy about you staying here all summer?"

"I'll write to them and ask," said Hermione quickly. "I'm sure they won't mind."

"Your parents must be really cool about letting you live your own life," Tonks remarked. "What do you tell them you're doing the whole time?" 

"Nothing about the Order, of course," Hermione said, and blushed. "But even if I did, I don't think they'd really get it. They don't know much about our world. They're Muggles, you know."

"Oh, that makes it easier, I suppose," Tonks said, sounding rather envious. "I wish my mum was as easy-going. She just complained bitterly the other day that she sees so little of her dear only daughter lately. That's the sort of thing I have to put up with at _my_ home. And I'm almost twice as old as you are, Hermione."

"What do you tell Andromeda then?" Sirius asked Tonks, forgetting that he'd been pretending not to listen.

"That I've got a new boyfriend," Tonks said lightly.

A hearty laugh went around the room. 

"That's an excellent excuse," Mr Weasley chuckled.

"And? Have you?" Bill asked expectantly.

Tonks glanced at Sirius. "Yes, I think I have," she said mysteriously.

"And does your new boyfriend know that yet?" Sirius asked casually.

"No, not yet," Tonks replied with a mischievous little smile. 

Bill looked back and forth between them, frowning. "It's notSirius, is it?" he asked incredulously, very much on the verge of the cheekiest grin he could muster.

Tonks looked at Sirius again, playfully refusing to give them an answer, but her eyes, today the bright blue of the summer sky outside, were sparkling with a secret happiness. Sirius was quite sure he didn't need to hear her answer to guess at the source of it, and he suddenly found it hard to decide whether he should laugh or cry. 

"No, it's not Sirius," he said resignedly. "Sirius is just eternally doomed to be the best man."

"Who's getting married?" Remus Lupin's voice asked from the door.


	35. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

It was hard to tell who jumped more at the sight of him, Sirius or Tonks. But Lupin seemed far too preoccupied to notice their few seconds of awkward silence that followed his arrival. The little commotion of Mr and Mrs Weasley getting to their feet to greet him, Bill drawing up another chair, and Ron and Hermione packing away their parchment and quills contributed conveniently to the effect.

Lupin sat down, yawned, apologised, and thankfully accepted the goblet of pumpkin juice Sirius set down in front of him. 

"Has anyone seen Snape lately?" he asked without preamble, looking around at his fellow members of the Order. 

They frowned, and shook their heads. The young Weasleys were listening with bated breath, trying very hard not to remind their parents of their presence. 

"I haven't seen him since he came and left that message for Moody late last Friday," Mrs Weasley said. "But I don't know what it was all about, do you, Tonks? Didn't you talk to him in the hall?"

"Oh, I did," Tonks said. "But I've been trying rather hard to forget that conversation." She grinned awkwardly. 

"Why?" Bill asked in an amused tone. "You weren't talking about NEWT Potions classes, by any chance?"

"As a matter of fact, we were."

"And didn't he like your compliments?" asked Sirius innocently.

"I don't know about that," Tonks said darkly. "I never got far, you know. I started with the wrong question. I first asked him if he _remembered_ me from his classes."

"And?"

Tonks blushed. "And he said, 'Of course I do, you were the one who would always ape me behind my back when you thought I wasn't looking.' Turns around and stalks off. End of conversation."

Bill and Sirius burst out laughing. "He's _such_ a git," said Bill helplessly, shaking his head. 

Lupin cleared his throat impatiently. "But you haven't seen him or heard from him after that?" he repeated his original question, unsmiling. 

"Should we have?" Arthur Weasley wondered. "Has anything happened?"

"That's what we'd like to know," Lupin said heavily. "Snape's gone missing."

"Who _cares?"_ Sirius snorted. 

"Wait a moment," Arthur Weasley said with a frown. "Wasn't Snape going to – " 

"I think it's time you children went to bed," Mrs Weasley said very loudly, getting to her feet and looking sternly around at her charges.

Hermione nodded unhappily, accepting the inevitable. Ginny very reluctantly got up from the floor and picked up Crookshanks, who seemed equally reluctant to leave now the conversation had taken a really interesting turn. Ron remained on his chair. "It's not fair," he grumbled. 

"Come on, Ron, let's go and join Fred and George upstairs," his sister said, and Sirius was quite sure that a very pointed look passed between them at these words.

"OK," Ron said, suddenly convinced, and the three of them trotted out of the room.

The moment they were gone, everyone else instantly turned back to Lupin. 

"Gone _missing?"_ Bill repeated. "How?"

"I have no idea. Nobody has. That's why I was asking. It seems that nobody has seen him or heard from him at all since last Friday night. He just vanished after that."

"I can't believe he liked Tonks's compliments _so_ little," Sirius said, and attempted a grin that nobody shared. 

"That makes three full days," Arthur Weasley said thoughtfully. "It could still be a coincidence, couldn't it?"

"Unlikely, though," said Lupin darkly. "He was supposed to report back as soon as he could, and he hasn't. Dumbledore's worried, there's no denying that. He doesn't believe in coincidences, in this case least of all."

"Snape's probably just having fun giving us all a good fright," Sirius muttered.

"Having _fun_ is probably last word to describe what Snape is doing at the moment, Sirius," Lupin said icily.

"If that _is_ what he's doing."

"What else should it be?" Arthur Weasley asked. His question hung in the room, unanswered, casting a shadow of unease over them all. 

"You don't think – " Bill began.

Sirius shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"We must," said Arthur Weasley firmly. "If we don't, we'll go mad." 

There was a pause.

"What about the meeting on the second then?" Tonks finally asked from her place on the floor. "Is that happening without him?"

"Suspended until further notice," Lupin said curtly.

"Then what – oh, what's that?" Tonks suddenly pointed at the kitchen door. Something small and pink seemed to have crept through the crack under it, like a short piece of string that ended in something that looked suspiciously like an ear. Mrs Weasley gave an exasperated hiss, crossed the room with surprising speed, flung the door open and stomped up the stairs to investigate the cause of this strange disturbance. 

"What was that?" Bill asked. 

"I warned them," Sirius said with a shrug, and a moment later, all hell broke loose in the hall over their heads. Mrs Weasley was shouting at the top of her lungs, shouting so furiously her voice even drowned that of Mrs Black, who had instantly joined in, adding her own abuse to Mrs Weasley's rage. The two voices combined echoed through the house with such force that the doors and windows rattled on their hinges.

Remus Lupin sighed and put his elbows on the table and his hands over his ears.

"Close the door, Bill," said Arthur Weasley. "Please." 

* * *

The ugly scene that followed Mrs Weasley's discovery of the Extendable Ears cast a dark shadow over all of Harry's birthday. The Extendable Ears, at least those that Mrs Weasley could find, had been thrown out, but they had not been forgotten. Mrs Weasley kept glaring at her children whenever she set eyes on any of them, and Sirius wasn't excluded from her disfavour. She clearly suspected him to have been in on her children's attempts at eavesdropping, if not even to have instigated them himself. Sirius wouldn't have cared too much about that – it was half true after all - if it hadn't been for the young Weasleys seeming to suspect the exact opposite. They didn't avoid him like they avoided their mother, but none of them would meet his eyes if they could help it. Whether they were ignoring him for allegedly denouncing them to their mother, or felt guilty for breaking their own promise to him, Sirius didn't bother to ask.

The visits from the members of the Order didn't help to lift the mood either. There was still no news from Snape, but their talk revolved around little else, reduced to whispers now, still repeating the same unanswered questions over and over again, all expressing the same fears, losing themselves in speculation where they had no certainty.

A heavy cloud of gloom hung over No. 12, Grimmauld Place, and there was no indication that it would lift again any time soon. On the contrary, Sirius felt that it was getting even heavier over the days that followed. Outside, it was very warm now, the oppressive summer heat weighing down on the house and everyone in it, the sweet, stuffy air of decay intensifying from day to day. Closing the curtains against the sun didn't help. Even the basement kitchen was uncomfortably warm, and the nights brought little relief.

Sirius felt more trapped in the house than ever. It was as if the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him. An inexplicable feeling of foreboding took possession of him, growing slowly but steadily to dread. It felt as if time had been suspended, holding its breath; as if the days were flowing together in one endless single moment, drawn out almost to the breaking point.

The evening of the second of August came, and Sirius's restlessness had grown to a degree that made it impossible for him to sit still on his chair in the kitchen where he, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt had assembled once more to wait for news of Snape. They had talked themselves into silence. Sirius paced round the room while his three companions sat broodingly by the fire. He walked about half a mile, ignoring Alastor Moody's annoyed looks, before he got tired of it.

"If anyone wants me," he said to the room at large, "I'll be bringing Buckbeak his dinner."

Crookshanks, reliable as ever since he'd made No. 12, Grimmauld Place, his hunting grounds, had provided another couple of rats for the Hippogriff, and the heat wouldn't allow them to wait until the next morning to feed them to him. But the familiar sight of Buckbeak tearing apart his fodder made Sirius's stomach lurch tonight, and he found the sweet smell of blood so sickening he quickly left the Hippogriff to himself and made to return to the sullen company in the kitchen.

But something had changed there. Something had happened. Sirius knew it almost before he caught the sound of their agitated voices echoing up the stairs.

"Is it definite?" he heard Kingsley Shacklebolt ask nervously as he hurried down to join them, three steps at a time. "Can you find out more?"

Sirius stopped short in the open door. His friends were gathered around the fireplace, their backs turned to him, looking intently into the flames. He couldn't see the head sitting in there, but he immediately recognised Arthur Weasley's voice when he spoke.

"I'll try," he was saying. "I don't know, it might be no more than a rumour… a hoax… maybe you'd better not tell Sirius yet…" 

"Don't tell me what?" Sirius asked sharply. 

The three wizards by the fire whipped around, and immediately moved closely together, blocking the fire from view. There was a little _pop_ that could only mean that Mr Weasley had disappeared.

"Don't tell me _what?" _Sirius repeated impatiently. "What's happened?" He looked at Moody, whose face was a stony mask, then to Kingsley, who gave a very unconvincing shrug, and finally at Lupin. 

"Nothing," Lupin said, trying to return Sirius's gaze steadily, but Lupin had always been a bad liar. Sirius watched him struggle with himself, and then lower his eyes, and suddenly, Sirius knew. 

"It's Harry, isn't it?" he asked hoarsely, feeling his stomach churn horribly. 

Lupin shook his head, not looking at his friend. 

Sirius took a step towards him. "Don't _lie_ to me, Remus."

"All right," said Moody bluntly, "Sirius, we've just had news from the Ministry, Harry has done magic, and he's been expelled from Hogwarts."


	36. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

"He's _what?_"

But Arthur Weasley's head was back in the fire before anyone could say more.

"It's true," Mr Weasley panted. "It's official, I've just seen the letter. Harry's done magic, there's no doubt about that, and they mean to expel him."

"And Dumbledore?" Moody asked urgently, turning sharply back to the fireplace.

"Is on his way. He'll be here any minute. I'll see what more I can learn." With a little _pop_, Arthur Weasley was gone again. 

Sirius still stood thunderstruck. A thousand questions were forming in his mind. Expelled from Hogwarts? Harry? Because he'd done magic? But why? Was it something with his Muggle family? Had they driven him so mad that he'd lost his temper and turned his wand on them? 

"Why would Harry do magic?" Kingsley Shacklebolt echoed his thoughts, his deep voice as calm and reasonable as ever. "He knows he's not allowed to, why would he – "

"Well, if he did, he did, but maybe if it's something minor, they'll just let him off with a warning," Lupin said, trying to sound confident. 

"Let's wait what Dumbledore can do about it," Moody muttered.

Another _pop_ announced the return of Arthur Weasley's head. "Dumbledore's here now," he reported. "Went straight to Amelia Bones's office, they're talking as we speak. It seems they were going to send a magical law enforcement patrol to Harry's home, but they've been called back."

"What would they do that for?" Moody growled.

"It said in the letter that they were going to destroy his wand." 

"What? They can't do that!" Lupin exclaimed. "Are they mad? Just because of a bit of underage magic, destroy his wand?" 

"It's all right," Mr Weasley said quickly. "They're not going, and I've sent Harry an owl telling him to stay inside and not to surrender his wand to anyone, of course."

 "Arthur, what kind of magic did Harry do, did the letter say?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked. "Because if it's something small, it might –"

"Oh, but it wasn't anything small," Arthur Weasley said unhappily. "Harry conjured a Patronus."

There was a tense silence. The four wizards in the room turned away from the fire to look at each other, one by one realising the implications. 

"But he wouldn't – " Lupin whispered, suddenly pale.

"Unless – " Moody muttered.

"No," said Kingsley, "it can't be. It can't be true."

"I'm afraid it is," said a strange voice from the door, hardly recognisable as Minerva McGonagall's. "We've just heard it all from Arabella Figg. It _is_ true. Harry has indeed been attacked by – "

But Sirius didn't even need to hear it.

The room went dark before his eyes. A deadly cold swept over him, a horrible, paralyzing cold that made his insides turn to ice and his blood freeze in his veins, closing in on him, drowning all warmth, all light, all sound… all sound but a hollow, rasping breath, coming closer and closer, sensing him, feeling for him with slimy, rotting hands, groping for his throat… Sirius was swaying, struggling against the hands. HHHHhhe had to get away from them, he had to get away… The world was spinning around him, a whirling kaleidoscope of waves and flashes of light, a rush of sounds and voices, now closer, now further away, calling his name… his name.

"Sirius! _Sirius!_ Can't you _hear_ me?"

The room was coming back to light, but it was still spinning. There was a face floating in front of him now. Someone had grabbed him by the shoulders. 

"Sirius, he's _all right!" _Remus Lupin was shouting. _"_He's at home, he's safe, he's all right! _Harry's all right!"_

Harry. The spinning stopped abruptly, and another face came into focus before Sirius's eyes, a face as white as the sheets, a lightning-bolt shaped scar burning on the forehead, and the eyes, Lily's eyes, blank and empty with shock. Harry. The blow had fallen, and Sirius hadn't been there to take it in Harry's stead as he had promised he would. It couldn't be, Harry couldn't be all right, he needed him, he had to go there, to protect him, to save him, to drive them off like Harry had once driven them off to save _his _life. Sirius felt warmth, life, return to his body, warm blood cursing through his veins again, driving out the cold, rising into his face, pounding in his ears, prickling under his skin. Why was he still standing here?

"I've got to _go_!" Sirius heard himself shout. "I've got to go to Harry, let go of me!" He tried to break free, fighting like mad to shake off the hands that were holding him. Why weren't they letting him? Why were they keeping him back? Didn't they understand? Didn't they _care?_ They were all shouting at him now, to calm down, to be reasonable, but he wasn't listening. "Don't you understand?" he yelled, "don't you _get _it? I've got to _do_ something, I've got to go!"

"But you _can't!" _Lupin yelled back even louder, still holding him with surprising strength, shaking him as if to wake a sleeper. "You can't go, you've got to stay here, you can't leave the house!"

"Yes I _can!"_ He was sick of this, sick of being a prisoner, sick of people telling him what to do, what was best for him, best for Harry. "I'm sick of it, sick!_"_ he yelled. "Now _let me_ _go!"_ And with an almighty wrench, he broke free from his friend's grip, stumbling backwards, off-balance for a moment. Lupin shot forward, but Sirius brought up his arm to ward him off. He would not let them stop him, not when Harry needed his help. Sirius caught Lupin square in the face with the back of his hand, and Lupin gave a yelp of pain, clutching his hand over his mouth.

"Now that's enough!" thundered a deep voice behind Sirius, and a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him around so roughly he almost fell. Sirius caught a glimpse of Mad-Eye Moody's lopsided face, contorted with fury, and then something hard collided with his left cheekbone with such force that the impact knocked him backwards into the wall. Sirius landed on the stone floor in a heap, a sweet taste of blood in his mouth and his head throbbing with pain, the pain of a sudden shrill, cackling laughter on the air, a mad, triumphant screaming, boring into his brain. 

"Someone _stun_ him!" Moody roared over the infernal cackle.

"STUPEFY!" thundered another voice. 

Sirius instinctively closed his eyes and raised his arm over his head, knowing full well that it wouldn't block the spell anyway. A red jet of light shot out of a wand and whizzed past him, and the mad laughter broke off from one second to the other.

There was a dead silence.

Sirius opened his eyes, surprised that he still could, turned over and found himself looking up at Alastor Moody standing over him, the tip of the old Auror's wand only inches away from Sirius's face.

"Now," Moody said icily, "not one more word. And _don't move."_

And that, finally, brought Sirius back to his senses. Where ever else the rest of his common sense had gone, he still had enough of it left to know that when you had Alastor Moody squaring up to you with his wand telling you not to move, you had better not. 

Sirius stayed down on the floor where he was, swallowing blood, trying to steady his breathing, waiting for the pain to subside and for Moody to be satisfied that his orders were being obeyed. Moody glared at him for a while longer, then he lowered his wand and, giving Sirius a last disgusted look over his shoulder, turned and walked away.

Only then, Sirius pulled himself up into a sitting position. He put his back against the wall for support, his elbows on his knees and his face into his shaking hands, and wished fervently that the ground would open beneath him and swallow him whole.

"So," Minerva McGonagall's voice said in a grim business-like tone. "Perhaps we can discuss what is to be done now. Harry is no longer safe at his aunt and uncle's house. We must remove him to a safer place as soon as we can."

"It will take a while, though," Moody replied, calm again. "We've got to make sure the Ministry doesn't keep track of his movements. Then we've got to come up with something to keep his Muggle family from asking stupid questions and raising an alarm."

"We'd better wait for Albus to discuss this in detail," said Lupin, the words coming out slightly muffled.

"And in the meantime, we must make sure Harry's protected by someone with a wand twenty-four hours a day now," Moody continued. "One of us should always be there, until we can get him out. I'd better go straight away."

"I'll come with you," said Minerva McGonagall. "Albus will want to hear how things stand there now. Harry mustn't leave the house again, under any circumstances. Someone has to make sure he knows that, and understands."

"We'll take care of that," said Lupin, still in that strangely thick voice. 

"And I'd better go and relieve Tonks," Kingsley Shacklebolt cut in. "As a matter of fact, I was supposed to be there half an hour ago."

"Right," Moody agreed. "Better keep your eyes open and your wand ready. The attack on Harry could have been a diversionary tactic. I suppose I'll see you in the morning. Oh, and someone make sure that_ idiot_ either pulls himself together now, or keeps out of our way."

Three pairs of footsteps crossed the room to the door and ascended the stairs to the hall. When they were gone, someone came walking over to where Sirius was sitting, and stood there waiting for him to look up.

"Go away," said Sirius hoarsely.

"No."

Sirius took his hands away from his face, looked up at Remus Lupin, and saw that his friend was smiling at him with very swollen lips. 

It was more than painful. That, Sirius realised with a fierce stab of guilt, had been his more than pathetic way of repaying his friend for keeping a cool head when he had lost his own. It was Remus who had kept him out of trouble, who had done the thinking for both of them when Sirius had failed so miserably to do any of it at all. No, Sirius had not made a good job of looking after himself, and an even worse job of looking after Harry. It was Remus, too, who had saved Harry's life in the first place, by teaching him how to conjure a Patronus strong enough to chase off a hundred Dementors at once when it came to it. Remus had done everything for him _and_ for Harry. And Sirius had found no better way of thanking him for it than hitting him in the face. How could his friend still bear to even look at him? And yet, there he was, and he was even smiling. There was nothing in the world that was harder to face than that bruised smile. 

Sirius sank his forehead down on his arms. "Go away," he said again, this time almost pleadingly.

But Lupin didn't. "Come on," he said quietly, and held out his hand to pull Sirius to his feet.


	37. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Sirius spent the rest of the evening in a state of complete apathy. It was as if the shock had drained him of all emotion. He felt numb, moving and speaking mechanically, playing the role of Sirius Black more or less convincingly while the real Sirius had gone elsewhere. He nodded absently, hardly listening, when Arthur Weasley's head popped back into the fire one last time, reporting that at least Harry's immediate expulsion from Hogwarts had been prevented.

At Lupin's urging, he even managed to scribble down a few lines for Harry, stringing the words together automatically, telling him the only thing that mattered now, to stay in the house whatever else he might do. He could think of nothing else to say. What did you say to someone who had just been attacked by Dementors? 

The letter was tied to the leg of the patient owl that had been sitting in a cage on the dresser for the last few days, ready to carry news of Snape. She took off swiftly through the fireplace, and there was nothing left to do but wait for the morning, and Albus Dumbledore. Sirius nodded indifferently when Lupin suggested that a bit of sleep might do them both good now, and he didn't even register that on their way out of the kitchen, Lupin bent over something lying on the floor close to the door of Kreacher's cupboard, pointed his wand at it and muttered _"Enervate"._

"Good night, Padfoot," Lupin said quietly when they had arrived on the second landing, and Sirius opened the door to the study. "I'm afraid Alastor would insist that I lock you in there now," he added in a feeble attempt at joking.

"You do that," Sirius said tonelessly. "Good night."

It wasn't exactly a good night. Sirius slept very little, if at all. But as he lay awake, his thoughts were clearing, gradually and steadily. The numbness wore off, and at last, he was beginning to realise what he'd just heard, and what it meant. Harry had been attacked by Dementors. Why? Someone must have set them on him. Who? Had they slipped from the Ministry's control already, as Dumbledore had predicted? Who were they taking their orders from? Who was interested in silencing Harry? _You know_ _who_ _is,_ Sirius told himself wryly. It was a pointless question. But their plan had failed, and Harry had proved that he was very well able to look after himself. And still, Minerva McGonagall had insisted that Harry had to be removed from his Muggle family's house. _We must remove him to a safer place as soon as we can,_ she had said, and Sirius felt a warm wave sweep over him as he remembered her words. What safer place was there in the wizarding world than No. 12, Grimmauld Place? There was no other answer, this was what was going to happen, Harry would come to Grimmauld Place, and as soon as the Order could bring him here. It suddenly seemed very irrelevant whether Harry would be expelled from Hogwarts or not. It didn't even matter that it had taken a Dementor attack for this to happen. Harry was finally coming to stay with Sirius, and that was all that mattered. It was his last thought before, towards dawn, Sirius finally fell into an exhausted sleep, and three figures, a stag, a wolf and a big black dog, bounded through his dreams, romping about together on green land, leaping for joy. 

* * *

By breakfast on the next morning, No. 12, Grimmauld Place was buzzing with the news of the attack on Harry. The kitchen was already full of people when Sirius arrived, and there was a tension in the air as if the room was live with an electric current. Sirius had heard them talking as he came downstairs, but the moment he entered the room, they all fell silent. It was instantly clear that the whole house knew not only about the attack itself and all the possible consequences, but also, no matter whether they had been there or not, about the scene in the kitchen the night before.

Mr Weasley greeted him with a whispered "Good morning", and Mrs Weasley with a sad smile. Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt were avoiding his eyes, appreciating his arrival only with short nods, both of them frowning over a map of the South-East of England they had spread out on the table. The Weasley children and Hermione, very quiet today, kept giving Sirius and then each other shy looks from their own end of the table. Alastor Moody was ignoring him completely. Not that Moody would have needed to say anything to make it clear to everyone what he thought of people losing their heads in moments of crisis, Sirius realised bitterly. For all Moody's stony silence, his own discoloured cheekbone must speak all the more eloquently. 

_Suit yourselves_, Sirius thought grimly as he sat down at the table and helped himself to tea. _Maybe this idiot can't pull himself together, but he's certainly not going to give you the chance to rub it in._ Inwardly, Sirius gave them all a big shrug, shaking off their furtive looks at his face and their awkward silence. What had happened had happened – but Harry was safe, and Harry was going to come to Grimmauld Place. That was all that mattered. Lupin might have understood, but Lupin wasn't there.

"Look," Hermione said quietly when the silence became unbearable, and pushed a small piece of parchment across the table towards him. "This came with Hedwig last night. Ron and I got the same."

Sirius picked it up. _I've just been attacked by Dementors, and I might be expelled from Hogwarts, _it read in Harry's writing. _I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here._ So Harry had even been able to write letters last night, and angry letters, too. That was a good sign. Anger was the best proof that you were still alive. Anger was what had kept Sirius alive for twelve long years in Azkaban.

"But we still can't tell him, can we?" Hermione asked.

"No," said Sirius, and pushed the parchment back at her. "We can't."

"But Harry _is _going to come here, isn't he?"

"Yes," said a grave voice behind them. Albus Dumbledore had finally arrived at No. 12, Grimmauld Place, and he was in a dark fury. He came sweeping into the kitchen, a worried looking Remus Lupin and a very subdued Mundungus Fletcher following in his wake, and ordered the young Weasleys out of the room with a wave of his hand, not even wishing them a good morning. There was no patient smile on his ancient face today, no benevolent twinkle behind his half-moon glasses. They jumped up from their seats, hastening to obey, knowing that this was not the time to argue.

"So," Dumbledore said, sitting down at the table in Ron's place. "What's this?" He picked up Harry's letter that Hermione had left there and glanced over it with a frown. "Exactly the right questions," he said curtly. "We'll start with the second. Now that the Order of the Phoenix has shown itself unable to ensure Harry's personal safety at his family's place – " he gave Mundungus Fletcher a very stern look "– I see no other possibility but to remove him from there, and bring him to stay here at Headquarters."

It was all Sirius had wanted to hear. He leant back and listened quietly to the conference that followed. The necessity of Harry's removal from Little Whinging had quickly been agreed on, but it took them a while to decide on the best choice of transport, discussing Floo powder ("too risky," said Moody), Muggle travel ("too slow"), unauthorised Portkeys ("are you _mad?"_), and brooms.

"What about Buckbeak?" Sirius suggested. "He could do with a bit of exercise."

"Impossible," said Kingsley Shacklebolt. "The Hippogriff is just one place below you on top of the Ministry's wanted list, Sirius. They'll be looking out for him."

"I thought we were in Tibet?"

Mundungus Fletcher looked up interestedly. "Wotcha doin' in Tibet, mate?" he asked.

"Meditating on the balance of light and darkness," Sirius replied gravely. "Fascinating concept."

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat irritably. 

"I think brooms really are the best option," said Lupin practically. "Harry's a great flier. And with an escort -"

"I'm not going to help wipe anyone off the ground," Moody grumbled.

"Have you got a better idea, Alastor?" Albus Dumbledore asked impatiently.

"No."

"Who is going to be in the escort then?" asked Minerva McGonagall. "I suppose we will need at least six people?"

"I'll go," Lupin offered immediately.

"Me too," said Kingsley, "and Tonks will probably want to come as well."

"Yes, she does," Lupin confirmed innocently, apparently oblivious of the more than one surprised sideways glance this comment earned him.

"That makes only four," Moody pointed out.

There was a pause, and Sirius realised that they were all looking uneasily at him now. "Oh, right," he said. "You're waiting for me to beg you to let me leave the house. Sorry to disappoint you. I haven't been on a broom for fourteen years, I'd better just stay here and keep the butterbeer cold until you're back."

None of them had the grace to smile. Lupin gave him a very unhappy look, and Sirius resisted the urge to pull a face at him.

"Then we'll have to find a few more volunteers," Dumbledore concluded. "We'd better send out some owls straight away. That's all for the moment."

"What about Harry's first question?" Sirius asked. "_Do_ we know what's been going on?"

"No," Dumbledore said curtly.

"But someone must have ordered them to Little Whinging," Moody growled. 

"Of course someone must."

"You don't fear that they might be slipping away from Ministry control?"

"It doesn't matter what I _fear, _Alastor," Dumbledore said rather sharply. "What matters is what happened, and we simply don't know."

"What worries me most," Minerva McGonagall said tensely, "is how they, whoever they are, knew that Harry was unprotected at that particular time."

"Unprotected?" Sirius asked quickly.

"That's mere speculation, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "And I at least have no time for that right now. I must be on my way." He rose from his seat. "Sirius, if you'd just, for a quick word -" With a gesture of his hand, he invited Sirius to join him on his way out, and Sirius had no choice but to get up and follow Dumbledore out of the kitchen. 

"What did Minerva mean, unprotected?" he asked as soon as the door had closed behind them. 

"That the Order has failed to prevent last night's attack," Dumbledore said evasively.  "Listen, Sirius, when Harry is here – if he tells you of any other odd things he's experienced lately… I must know about it."

"What other odd things?" Sirius asked, slightly irritated at Dumbledore's vagueness.

"Dreams, for example. Or his scar hurting, things like that."

Sirius glanced sideways at Dumbledore. They had arrived in the hall, and he could see the other's ancient face in the gloomy light, lined with worry. "Are you expecting anything of that sort?" he asked, suddenly uneasy. "Why, what would it mean?"

"I'm not sure yet," Dumbledore said gravely. "But I know it would be very important that I hear of it. You will tell me, won't you?"

"Why don't you ask Harry yourself?" Sirius asked back unwillingly. He didn't like the idea of being part of anyone's strategy of keeping Harry in the dark that something odd might be happening with him.

"I won't be here very often," Dumbledore said, as if that answered the question. "In the meantime, take good care of Harry while he's here," he added, opening the front door, "and take good care of yourself as well." And with that, he was gone. 

"You don't think I can do either of that, do you?" said Sirius bitterly to the closed door.

"Well, _I_ do," Remus Lupin said behind him, coming up from the kitchen stairs. "And the best way to take care of Harry now is to help me write a few messages asking for volunteers for the escort. I'm just going to get quills and parchment." He turned to continue upstairs to his room, but he didn't get far. As soon as he had set foot on the lowest step, the little group of the young Weasleys and Hermione, who must have been lying in wait on the landing above, came running down to meet the two friends.

"Are you really bringing Harry here?" Ron, who was in front, asked breathlessly.

Lupin stopped short before they could knock him over. "Yes, of course we are," he said. He smiled at their expectant faces, and Sirius acknowledged that his friend bore both the visible and the invisible marks of last night's events with so much more grace than he did.

"Right now?" Hermione asked equally urgently.

"No, we can't rush things," Lupin explained patiently. "We'll have to make sure the journey's safe. He'll be here around the day after tomorrow, I think. And now excuse me, he'll be here the quicker the sooner you let us make the arrangements for his journey." He made to walk past them, and they drew aside to let him pass, when suddenly, the sound of furious shouting came up from the kitchen. They couldn't hear the words through the closed doors, but it was immediately clear that it was Mrs Weasley calling all the fires of hell down on someone's head. Lupin turned back towards Sirius, the expression on his face a strange mix of guilt and apprehension that Sirius didn't understand at all.

"Blimey," Fred grinned. "You wouldn't want to be in his shoes now, would you?"

"In whose shoes?" Sirius asked sharply. 

Fred suddenly went very red. None of them made a move to answer the question. But the shouting in the kitchen did not abate.

"Is anyone going to answer _any_ of my questions today?" Sirius asked irritably.

"You – you didn't know?" Hermione said timidly.

"Know what?_"_

Lupin took a few steps back towards his friend. "Promise you won't – " he began.

"What, break down and cry?" Sirius snapped at him. "No. _What _didn't I know?"

Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by a loud _bang_ echoing up from the kitchen, followed by a clattering sound, as if a heavy object had been thrown at the door downstairs. The door burst open, and they could clearly hear Mrs Weasley's voice now. "…the most unreliable, irresponsible, useless, hopeless _scoundrel _I've ever met! Business opportunities! HA! How Dumbledore _ever_ allowed you in the Order! You're a disgrace! A DISGRACE! Now get out of my sight, you dirty rogue, get out of this house, GET _OUT!"_

There was another sound much like the first, this time accompanied by a loud wail of pain and protest, then they heard footsteps coming up the stairs in a flying haste, and a moment later, Mundungus Fletcher came hurtling through the hall, very red in the face, clutching the side of his head. He ran straight past the stairs to the door, wrenched it open, and fled from the house.

Sirius looked at his companions with raised eyebrows. "What was that?"

"That was Molly telling Mundungus what she thinks of him leaving his guard duty just before Harry was attacked last night," Lupin said resignedly. "Now promise you won't run right after him and wring his neck."

Sirius contemplated the idea for a moment. "No, I won't bother," he said then, almost amusedly. "I think Molly has made my point. Or at least one of her frying pans has. I can't think of anything more substantial to add to that, really."


	38. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Owls went out to the other members of the Order asking for volunteers for Harry's escort, and many of them – more than they had expected, and even more than were needed - returned on the same day or the next, carrying avid confirmation that the senders would gladly be part of the rescue mission. But it still took days before the plan was complete and Harry's advance guard was ready to set out, and these days were among the longest that Sirius had spent in Grimmauld Place so far. 

All the inhabitants of number twelve were waiting for Harry's arrival with bated breath. People talked only in hushed voices. They literally tiptoed through the house. Fred and George were most uncharacteristically quiet. Even Tonks had given up her dinnertime amusement programme for the time being. Sirius knew that they did it out of consideration for him, that they were trying to avoid anything that might annoy or provoke him. But he wished they'd realise they weren't helping him at all – he could have done with a bit of noise and chaos around the place to take his mind off things, now more than ever. Time would have passed so much more quickly. But as it was, it seemed to stand still.

The members of the Order, in the same well-meant misunderstanding, now made a point of always reporting back to Grimmauld Place from their watch over Harry's house, telling Sirius so unanimously that Harry was fine and staying indoors that he almost began to doubt it, and assuring him so confidently that there was nothing to worry about that he began to believe that there was.

"I _know!"_ he snapped irritably at Dedalus Diggle even before the elderly wizard, just returned from a rainy night spent outside No. 4, Privet Drive, could open his mouth to report the usual. Diggle looked slightly affronted, and Sirius was immediately sorry for being ungrateful to those who, without complaint, did what was really _his_ duty.

* * *

The fourth evening after the attack on Harry finally came, and the sun was setting outside while Sirius sat waiting in the kitchen with Hermione, Ron and Ron's parents. Outwardly, Sirius seemed completely calm, sitting quietly by the fire with Crookshanks on his lap, but his thoughts were elsewhere, half-way between London and the place where Harry lived, hanging suspended in mid-air, refusing to return to him until Harry was here, and the advance guard had landed. 

Sirius would have loved to see the others take off on the rescue mission, but they were all going to Apparate to Little Whinging from their own homes and assemble in Arabella Figg's backyard there.

Shortly before eight o'clock, Remus Lupin, broom in hand, poked his head around the kitchen door. "We're off to get Harry now," he announced. "If all goes smoothly, we can be back in an hour."

"Good luck," said Sirius.

"Be careful," Mrs Weasley added.

"Take your time," said Mr Weasley.

"No, be quick," Sirius corrected him, and Lupin smiled, gave him a wink, and left. 

Sirius sat staring into the fire for a moment, then he got up abruptly, dropped a rather displeased Crookshanks unceremoniously to the floor, and followed Lupin out of the kitchen. He caught up with him in the empty entrance hall.

"Wait," he said.

"Yes?"

Sirius hesitated. He knew it was pointless to ask now, but he had to. It was his last chance. The rescue mission wasn't going to be a pleasure trip, and Sirius couldn't face Harry if he'd never even asked to be part of it, if he'd never even offered his help. "I can't come, can I?" he asked lamely.

"You don't have to," Lupin reassured him. "We're nine now, Sirius, Harry is in good hands."

"I know, it's not that. It's just – you said Harry needs me. You said so yourself. And I've done precious little so far to live up to that."

Lupin looked at him very thoughtfully. "I'm not going to do you the favour and say 'yes' now," he said quietly.

"No, go on, do, say it." It had been hard enough to say it aloud, but the words were almost bursting out of Sirius now. "I've done nothing at all. Nothing. I'm useless. And I hate it. God, how I _hate_ it."

"I know you do." There was no hint of sarcasm in Lupin's voice.

"But?"

"But 'nothing' isn't true," Lupin said. "You wrote those letters to Harry, remember? Told him to keep out of trouble, and stay in the house."

"Letters!" Sirius snorted. "Anyone can write a few letters saying things like that."

"But Harry wouldn't have_ listened_ to anyone else, Sirius. Trust me, if it hadn't been for _you _asking him to, he'd never have held out as long as this." Lupin put a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Harry has kept himself alive and safe by taking your advice," he said very firmly. "Now it's your turn. You take your own advice now, and prove it right."

It was his last word on the matter, and Sirius knew it. "Take care, Moony," he said quietly.

"You too, Padfoot," Lupin replied, and the two friends embraced. 

Then Lupin was gone, and Sirius returned to the kitchen, his heart a little lighter than it had been before.

They waited in silence. Mrs Weasley was knitting, the needles clicking softly, like the ticking of a clock, minute after minute, row after row. Ron was building a house of chocolate frog collecting cards on the table, his face screwed up in concentration, patiently starting all over again every time it collapsed, never getting past the fourth level. Time wore on, creeping like a snail. 

Hermione looked up from the book on the table in front of her. She had never admitted that she had not been able to find a way to work around the Permanent Sticking charm, but her recent research had produced some results that she was only too happy to share.

"They can't expel Harry," she told Sirius for the dozenth time in the last few days. "I've looked it all up, it's in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery of 1875, you're allowed to use magic in a life threatening situation, even in front of Muggles, and I mean you _could_ take the view that Dementors don't _technically _threaten your life, because you'd continue to exist biologically even when, you know, but arguing by analogy, Harry can definitely claim that –"

"You and Dedalus Diggle would make a great team," Sirius said dryly.

Hermione looked rather injured. "I'm only trying to help."

"I know."

Half an hour passed. If all had gone well so far, they'd already be up in the air now, flying towards London, Harry on his Firebolt that Sirius had given him for Christmas the year before last. They'd be all right, Sirius told himself. Harry was every bit as good a flier as James had been, and he had a guard of nine. But still, it was a long way, and they were so vulnerable up there in the air. Dodging Bludgers on the Quidditch pitch was one thing, but this wasn't the Quidditch pitch, and Bludgers were perfectly harmless compared to what they might encounter on their journey if any unfriendly eyes had spotted Harry and his escort take off. Whoever had set the Dementors on Harry must know that they had failed, and was bound to try again. Sirius tried very hard to force himself not to think about Moody talking about wiping people off the ground.

Another half hour passed just as painfully slowly, and still the advance guard hadn't come back. At a quarter past nine, even Mrs Weasley started to get nervous. "He'll be here soon, I think," she whispered to her husband. 

Mr Weasley checked the time and nodded. 

"Come on then," Mrs Weasley said to Ron and Hermione. "You can wait for Harry upstairs."

Ron protested, but his mother was not in the mood to be accommodating. With a sigh, he packed up his cards, and Hermione closed her book. 

They had hardly been gone for five minutes when the silence in the kitchen was finally broken by the sound of the front door opening. 

"That's him," said Mr Weasley with audible relief.

Sirius jumped up from his chair by the fire, listening hard. But it couldn't be Harry with his escort. It was a solitary pair of footsteps that crossed the hall and came walking down the kitchen stairs. The door opened, and Sirius came face to face with the last person he would have wanted to see there instead of Harry.

"Professor Snape!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed, getting quickly to her feet.

"It's so good to see you back," said Mr Weasley, and Sirius couldn't have disagreed more. 

The news of Harry had completely driven Snape and his mysterious absence and silence of the past week from Sirius's mind. No one had told him that Snape was due at No. 12, Grimmauld Place tonight, too – or if they had, it must have gone straight past him. He'd clean forgotten that Snape even existed, and he couldn't pretend he was pleased to be reminded of it now.

The displeasure was obviously mutual. Snape gave the Weasleys the merest nod in return for their greeting. They were both looking at him expectantly, but he made no move to explain anything. His pale face looked a little drawn, but it bore the usual expression of irritation at everyone and everything around him.

Sirius was about to turn his back on them when Snape addressed him across the room. "How's the cleaning going?" he asked brusquely, taking off his black cloak and throwing it over a chair.

"Oh, quite well," said Sirius indifferently. "Except for a bit of vermin in the kitchen that keeps coming back."

Snape's nostrils twitched very slightly. "But surely nothing _you _couldn't deal with?"

"As you can see."

"The others will be here any time now," Mrs Weasley said almost timidly from her end of the table. "Would you like a glass of wine while we wait?" 

Snape gave her a look as if she had offered him poison, and shook his head, rubbing his left forearm irritatedly as he did.

"Healing now, is it?" Sirius asked casually, and took a cruel delight in the series of facial expressions Snape went through in reaction to this remark. At first, it was mere annoyance, then Snape's eyes narrowed, and to his satisfaction Sirius could see something in them that seemed closer to shame than to anything else. For a moment, the pale face twitched as if with a painful memory, but then Snape was back in control of it, gave Sirius a cold, disdainful smile, and came over to where he was sitting. He leant against the table next to Sirius's chair, crossed his arms and looked into the fire. 

"Tell me, Black," he said in a conversational tone, "have _you_ risked your life lately?"

"No," Sirius replied equally pleasantly, "I don't need to do that to get attention."

Snape leaned forward a little, bringing his face close to Sirius's. "Then maybe," he said in hardly more than a whisper, and there was a chill in his voice now that belied his earlier tone, "you're not aware that you'llbe doing just that if you choose to pursue this particular topic any further?"

Sirius turned his head to meet Snape's fathomless black eyes. "Oh, now you're scaring me," he said ironically. "Why, _should_ I pursue it?  Is it healing a little too quickly for us to know?" 

The disdainful smile didn't waver. "That's what you're all afraid of, isn't it?" Snape said evenly, and there was an odd undertone of satisfaction in his voice.

Sirius shrugged. "Think what you like, if it makes you feel important."

"Talking of feeling important," Snape continued acidly, "what are _you _doing here tonight? Not rushing to your dear little godson's rescue? He'll be disappointed. Did the others not allow you to come along, or were you just too scared of Dementors to leave the safety of your snug home?"

"I assure you that you will be out of my snug home quicker than you can _say_ Dementor if you choose to pursue _that_ particular topic any further," Sirius said calmly.

"Oh, I forgot, of course, you didn't really _need_ to go, did you?" Snape sneered. "What's the big deal about a few Dementors anyway? He's fought them off before, hasn't he? Child's play for someone like Harry Potter. Didn't even make it into the paper this time, did you notice?" 

Sirius felt his mask of indifference slide off his face. Whatever else Snape might say, he wasn't going to speak badly of Harry. "Yes, Harry has fought them before," he said through clenched teeth. "As you ought to remember."

"Oh, never fear, I remember that all too well. Well enough to know that Harry Potter is perfectly able to deal with a couple of Dementors without the need of _my_ intervention." Snape gave Sirius a sickeningly modest smile, and suddenly, a horrible suspicion sprang up in Sirius's mind. His heart skipped a beat. He vaguely felt that it was simply too monstrous to be true, but he had to make sure.

"You _knew?"_ he demanded hoarsely, struggling to keep his composure. 

Snape gave a snort. "Of course I didn't," he said lightly, his smile more disdainful than ever. "You're jumping to hasty conclusions, as usual. You're so predictable, Black, it amuses me to no end."

Sirius rose abruptly from his chair. "I amuse you, do I?" he snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. His blood, running chill only a moment ago, was beginning to boil now, shock giving way to anger.

Snape leant back and raised his eyebrows in mild disapproval. "Don't lose your _temper,_ Black. Last time you did, you didn't come out of it looking too good, did you?" Still smiling, he surveyed Sirius's face intently as if he could still see the marks of Alastor Moody's hand there. Sirius knew exactly that they were gone by now, but the memory wasn't, and neither was the pain of it. He balled his hands into fists, his blood rising hotly into his face. He hated those cold black eyes, that cold smile, hated it with every fibre of his heart, hated it so much he knew he would burst with it if Snape said only one more word.

"What a _touching_ scene that must have been," Snape said softly, and inside Sirius, something snapped. He plunged his hand into his robes and drew out his wand. At the other end of the room, Mrs Weasley gave a shocked little gasp. Arthur Weasley took a few steps towards the opponents as if to separate them, but then they all heard it, and froze. There were footsteps on the stone stairs outside the front door, announcing the arrival of a large number of people. The front door opened, and the many feet moved into the hall over their heads. Then they were all inside, and the door closed. 

_No,_ Sirius thought. Live up to it, at least now. _Now it's your turn, _he heard Remus Lupin's clear voice say in his head. _You take your own advice now, and prove it right._ Words appeared before his eyes, written in his own hand. _I know this must be frustrating for you… Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK…  Be careful and don't do anything rash… _

Sirius looked at Snape as if he was seeing him for the first time, then at the wand in his own hand as if he couldn't remember how it got there. _Don't do him the favour of letting him make you feel bad, he's not worth it. _His hand fell to his side as if someone had cut the string that had held it up. Harry hadn't seen Sirius sit in a corner and cry when he would have needed him most, and he wasn't going to see him lose his temper at a few feeble taunts from a dirty little Death Eater now. Harry would see him be the godfather he needed, and deserved. _Be careful and don't do anything rash_. Yes, Sirius didknow how to pull himself together_._ And he was going to prove it to them all, so they would never doubt it again. _Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK_. And so it would be. Everything else was irrelevant. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but one thing.__

Harry was here. The advance guard had landed.

**THE END**

_To M., a friend like no other – because she understands_.__

_July – October 2003_

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Please review - your feedback is much appreciated. :-)


	39. Credits & Endnotes

Credit where credit is due.

**Thanks to: **My beta-reader, **Seldes**** Katne** **(Order of Merlin, First Class)** – for your reliability, your patience, your help with language problems, your good advice, and for understanding perfectionism and not letting me get away with a comma in the wrong place!

Thanks also to my fellow former regulars of several HP message boards for some extremely insightful character discussions; to J.R.R. Tolkien's Gandalf, Victor Laszlo from "Casablanca" and Sean Connery for some great lines of theirs that I simply had to nick; but my most sincere and heartfelt thanks goes to Mylla, for our endless fantastic Harry Potter-related conversations of course, but also, maybe most of all, for your trust - you're truly a friend like no other.  
And last but not least, I bow to J.K. Rowling for creating this fantastic world for me to live in for a whole summer: my Summer of the Phoenix, July – October 2003.

**Thanks also to all my faithful reviewers. **You guys rock! Some of you have stuck with me from the day the first chapter was posted – you all kept me going, I don't think I could have finished the story without your encouragement. You've brightened my days with your kind comments, I really can't thank you enough!

**So here ends the Summer of the ****Phoenix****. **This is where I bow out and hand the story back to JKR. **Let me know what you think! Loved it? Hated it? Got any questions? Comments? Suggestions?** This is my first attempt at fanfiction – your feedback is greatly appreciated! I aim to be 100 % faithful to J. K. Rowling's Wizarding World, so constructive criticism concerning mistakes, inconsistencies and omissions on my part is much appreciated. Oh, and 50 points to the house of your choice if you spot the one real canon glitch in the story. ;-) (ETA after HBP and DH: OK, so there are lots of canon glitches now that JKR has completed the series... I do intend to make the story completely canon-consistent one day. But as this concerns only details, I hope that in the meantime the story can still be enjoyed as it is.)

I'm aware that there are a few things in my story that I haven't been definite about although you might have expected me to be – but either JKR has taken care of that in the meantime, such as concerning what became of Tonks and Remus. Otherwise, feel free to let your imagination run wild! It's not like mine doesn't - but whenever it threatens to run beyond the limits of the canon, I'd rather be careful. So please don't ask me where exactly Snape disappeared to for that last week, and what exactly he was doing, because the simple answer is, I don't know. I know that's kind of cheating, but I can't help it!

People have asked me to continue beyond this point – but much honoured as I am by this request, I'm afraid I can't. The story was always going to end here, I simply ran out of both time and ideas for more of it. And who says the story ends here, anyway? Just pick up your books again, you don't need me for that. ;-)

But if you enjoyed this and would like to read more about Sirius at Grimmauld Place, feel free to check out **"Bleak Midwinter"** (clicking on my author profile will take you there).

And if you read German, you might be interested in the **German version of the story, now online here on .**

JolieBlack


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